


Captive Princes

by ArabellaFaith



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, M/M, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-03 05:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 49,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13334877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArabellaFaith/pseuds/ArabellaFaith
Summary: Only one fell, but two princes were killed at Marlas. The boy Laurent was died that day, and a new one took his place, formed by the Regent's unspeakable desires.  Starting at Marlas and going beyond the end of Kings Rising, this is Laurent's story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this story include non-con, incest, child abuse, grooming, and character deaths that all occur in the series. It shows Laurent's POV starting at the death of Auguste and continuing through the books. Early chapters are all set pre CP, but for later ones it may be a good idea to refresh your memory of the books, as not every single scene will be covered.
> 
> Any recognizable dialogue is the work of C.S. Pacat, and only used as reference to where we are in the story.

Laurent knew he would never forget Marlas.  It was the first time he’d ever been on the battlefield, and he’d felt honored to have been invited by his uncle.  His father, out on the front lines, might not have approved, but at thirteen, Laurent felt like he was ready.  Auguste had been trained for war for as long as Laurent could remember, and he had carefully watched his elder brother’s every lesson.  Riding out for war against Akielos, Auguste had looked like a sun god.  His blonde hair tousled in the breeze, blue eyes clear and steady, armor glinting brightly.  Laurent had thought his heart would burst with love and admiration for his brother.

 

To be standing on the battlefield where Auguste was fighting for their nation was beyond his wildest dreams.  He could already picture Auguste’s glorious return from the front.  How surprised Auguste would be to see Laurent there waiting for him, the stories he would tell of the glory of battle.  Songs would be written about how decisive action on the part of the king and his eldest son had saved many Veretian lives.  Laurent would sing them the loudest, joyous to have been there, to have seen his brother make history.  No, he would never forget Marlas.

 

***

 

The first messenger had been intercepted by his Uncle, so Laurent couldn’t understand the stricken faces of those around him.  He thought, perhaps, the worst.  Had his father fallen in battle?  It had been an unusual risk for him to have ridden so open upon the field, but they had been assured no harm would befall him by that point.  Or… or was it Auguste that had been injured?  Was he being brought back to camp that very moment, bleeding on a stretcher?

 

A hush had fallen over the entire camp.  News spread like wildfire, always just out of reach of Laurent’s ears.  Somewhere behind the royal tent, a woman began wailing.  Laurent’s heart began to pound until he thought it might beat right out of his chest.  He searched through the crowds, finally beginning to catch snippets of conversations, horrifying bits that made him struggle to breathe and hold onto hope.   _-dead-  -both in the same day!-  -is lost without anyone to lead-_

 

“Uncle!”  Laurent burst through the crowd and staggered to his Uncle’s side, fear making his voice tremble.

 

“Not now, Laurent,” his uncle barked, beginning to wave him away.

 

“Uncle, please!”  The beg, caught in a sob, stopped his uncle.  The older man looked him over, taking in the welling eyes, heaving chest, shaking legs.  He swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was gruff but patronizing.

 

“Terrible events have befallen us, Laurent,” he said.  Laurent shuffled closer to his uncle, holding his breath and trying desperately to cling to hope.  “Your father has fallen in battle on the western front.”  It was said with a flat finality.  Laurent’s heart was gripped painfully, but his breathing began to ease.  Perhaps it was his greatest sin, as a son, but his father’s death was not the worst-  “And I have just received news that your brother has been slain by Prince Damianos.”

 

Laurent stared.  He had no awareness of the noises around him, nor the feel of gravel digging into his knees as he had fallen to them.  His uncle’s lips were still moving, but all Laurent heard was those same words again.   _Your brother has been slain.  Your brother has been slain._

 

_Your brother has been slain._

 

His vision was filled with grey as he heaved, his body curling forward with the spasm.  The individual specs of gravel blurred together and then became obscured partially with a brighter, more unnamable color as Laurent spilled his breakfast back out onto the ground.  He was not aware of his uncle pulling him back to his feet and away from the sick.  Not aware of the way he was being cradled, his head pressed against a belly that was not hard with muscle as his brother’s had been but softer, more accustomed to drink.  Not aware of how his uncle’s breathing shifted from slow and steady to deep and ragged.

 

Time passed.  He knew, logically, that the world had not stopped.  There were people moving around him, horses whickering and voices filling the air, but he could not bring himself to understand what was happening.  When he tried to focus, he realized his uncle was gone.  Though he was surrounded by attendants, Laurent suddenly felt very alone.  Terror filled him.  His father had left.  Auguste had left.  They hadn’t returned.  His uncle was his only family now.  What if he never returned, either?  The panic began to eat at him, stealing any reason that he might have retained.  He began screaming for his uncle, fighting the attendants, kicking and clawing like a wild cat in his desperation to get to him.

 

But his uncle did not come, nor was Laurent allowed to seek him out.  Someone had to act, to take on leadership that Laurent was far too young to handle.  That task fell to his uncle.  Eventually a physician broke away from tending the wounded long enough to prepare a drink that was forced down the young prince’s throat.  Haze stretched across his vision, then it went black and he knew no more.

 

***

 

When he woke, it was dark.  He thought he felt hands on him and recalled the times when he’d been young and had crawled into bed with Auguste.  His brother had tickled him awake, teased him good naturedly for sneaking out of his rooms, and would later tell him gently that he was too old to be coming to his brother’s bed.  Laurent was grown up now, wasn’t he?  He should not be in a man’s bed, then, even a family member’s.  And if anyone ever asked him to-  But these hands did not feel like the teasing, loving touches of his brother.  They were softer, differently placed… Laurent shifted, and they were gone as suddenly as if they had never been.  He blinked in the darkness, wondering why he had imagined such a strange thing.  His uncle was reclining on the bed beside him, newly dressed in sleeping clothes.

 

The events of the previous day came crashing back to him and his eyes filled with tears.

 

“Oh, Laurent.”  Strong arms caught him up and pulled him close.  Laurent let himself be enveloped in the embrace.  Sobs wracked his small frame, his only craig the solid chest of his uncle.  “I’m here,” was whispered in his ear softly.  “I’ve got you now.”

 

Laurent cried until exhaustion took him once more.

 

The next morning, his uncle was gone and panic again seized Laurent’s chest.  It wasn’t until the midday meal that he saw him again and finally felt as though he could breathe.  His uncle was too busy to do more than acknowledge him briefly, and Laurent felt utterly alone.

 

For three more days, Laurent was adrift in grief and fear.  His days were torture.  It was only at night, when he was allowed to sleep in his uncle’s tent, to share his bed, that he got any respite.  Uncle would comfort him, dry his tears, hold him until the sobs eased.  He assured Laurent that even though they only had each other, he would not leave Laurent alone.  No one could ever love him the way that family did.  They couldn’t trust anyone but each other, now.  Laurent could stay by his side and Uncle would take care of him.  Laurent nodded to all of this, clinging to the only person who could understand his grief, who would never leave him.

 

***

 

A week later, they returned to the palace.  That very day, Laurent’s throne was placed in trust, his uncle appointed Regent, and the council reformed.  The King and crown prince had been entombed, and the city would spend an entire month in mourning for them.

 

The new Regent was aghast at the thought of taking his brother’s rooms, but as leader of the country until Laurent came of age, it was expected.  He moved in with grief and humility, all possible respect being given for the King’s memory.  Laurent’s own rooms were on the other side of the palace.  It was a safety precaution, to have the heirs far removed from the king’s chambers in case of fire or treachery - despite the fact that no calamity had befallen the royal palace in a hundred years.  To Laurent, however, the distance suddenly felt like an ocean. It separated him from his only source of comfort.  When he tried to sleep, terrible dreams stole into his mind.  He saw the barbarian prince, huge and monstrous, driving a flaming blade into Auguste’s chest over and over again.

 

The second night proved no better.  Exhausted, trembling, Laurent slipped through the dark halls of the palace until he stood outside the doors to the King’s rooms.  A fortnight ago, his father had slept inside.  Now, the Regent was in his place.  Laurent raised a hand to knock softly, but the door opened before he could.

 

“Laurent?”  

 

“I-”  Laurent’s words caught in his throat and he felt shame fill him for the first time.  He was thirteen, not a little boy.  He should not be seeking comfort in his uncle’s room at night.  Auguste’s words, faded with time but still sacred as everything his brother had ever told him, rang in Laurent’s mind.  He should not be in a man’s bed, even a family member’s.  His cheeks flushed and he started to turn away.  How childish his uncle must think him.  

 

“Laurent, wait.”

 

A strong hand closed over his arm, drawing him to a stop.  He was pulled gently back against his uncle’s body.  “Have you been having trouble sleeping?”  Still ashamed, Laurent could only nod.  “Come inside, then.”

 

Laurent found himself drawing into the room even as he voiced soft protest.  “I should not be here,” he murmured, eyes downcast.  “I’m not a child any more…  I shouldn’t-”

 

“Shh,” Uncle pressed a finger to his lips to halt his words, then sat on the bed and took his shoulders, squaring them so that Laurent was looking directly into his eyes.  “You aren’t a baby any more, no.  You’re such a big boy now.”  Uncle smiled gently even as Laurent cringed internally.  It sounded like something a man would say to a toddler placatingly.   _What a big boy you are_.  “But we are all each other has.  It is not wrong for us to seek comfort in each other.  I, too, have struggled to sleep.  The grief is terrible, and now that Penthos has left-”

 

“Why has Penthos left?”  Incredulity and outrage laced Laurent’s voice.  Penthos had been his uncle’s pet, a sandy haired boy close to his own age, pampered and doted upon as a father would a son.  The loss of him would have greatly wounded the man who had cared for him so deeply.  For it to happen so close to the death of his family was unthinkable.

 

“A distant relative of his was discovered in the North.  Since he had lost his parents so young, how could I make him endure even one more night without his kin?  When I have been so recently reminded of the importance of family…”  Uncle shook his head, clearly regretting having to let the boy go.  “But I had to do right by him, even at my own expense.  We are all we have in the world, Laurent.”  He paused, studying Laurent’s nightshirt thoughtfully.  “No one needs to know that you’ve sought me out.  You’re right, you’re big enough now that they might not understand, might judge you for it…  But under cover of darkness, then you can come to me.  I hope you do.  Let me comfort you, Laurent, and let me find comfort in you in return.”

 

Slowly, Laurent nodded.  He so badly wanted what his uncle was offering.  Needed it.  His head was still clouded with grief, his heart shredded.  He could not be alone.  Accepting, he looked around for Penthos’ cot.  The boy had shared Uncle’s room for convenience, but of course wouldn’t have slept in his bed.  It seemed as if it had already been cleared from the chamber, though.  “Where should I-”

 

“We are family.  There’s no reason for us not to share the bed.  It helped you sleep in Marlas, did it not?”

 

Laurent cringed, the words reminder of the place where his brother had died, of that fresh grief, lashing him.  It felt as though the loss was as raw as it had been that first day.  Bonelessly, he let himself be drawn down into Uncle’s bed.  He fell asleep listening to softly murmured words of reassurance.  “ _I’ve got you, Laurent…_ ”

***

After that first night, his uncle met Laurent’s soft knock at the door with a glass of wine. He was technically too young for fermented drinks yet, but Uncle just smiled softly and reminded him of how mature he was. If the crown prince could not have a glass of wine before bed, then who could? Such a big boy, he praised when Laurent drained his cup boldly. Laurent again stifled his cringe at the phrase, accepting it because he so desperately yearned for the praise. It wasn’t long after that his eyelids began to feel heavy. He must have been more fatigued even than he had realized, because he could barely climb onto the bed before sleep was taking him, his eyes closing on the sight of his uncle’s smile.

In the morning, his head felt foggy, as though he had barely slept at all. Uncle was shaking him gently awake, telling him that he needed to return to his own quarters before the servants found them. Laurent struggled to rise, his movements sluggish. When he stood, he realized his nightshirt had ridden up, exposing his hips, and he pulled it down with embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about,” Uncle said with a chuckle. “I saw you naked as a child many, many times.” Still, Laurent was uncomfortable. Perhaps he would speak to the seamstress about having more adult sleep clothes made for him. After all, he was a child no longer. He did not say that to his uncle, though, and let himself be ushered from the room.

The next night, he was met with another glass of wine. This one was smaller.

“I believe I gave you too much last night and it made it difficult for you to wake in the morning,” Uncle explained. “You are so mature, so grown up, that I forget your body is yet small.” Not wanting to fight the same confusion and fatigue that had plagued him all day a second time, Laurent accepted the smaller glass without complaint. This time, he was able to get into the bed on his own power. He thanked his uncle gratefully, and fell into a sleep devoid of dreams.

A week later, the wine was a different sort, the taste not as sharp. For the first time, he did not fall right to sleep. While they laid in the bed together, Uncle told him stories from embassaries and merchants. They had begun to call Damianos the Prince Killer.

Damianos the Prince Killer.

The words echoed in Laurent’s mind, bringing his nightmares to sharp clarity. The huge barbarian, demonic and bloodthirsty, slaughtering his brother. Laurent had told his uncle of those nightmares. Thankfully, they had not returned since he’d begun sleeping in his uncle’s bed. He worried that hearing of the man now would bring them back, but did not say it. Uncle was showing faith in his maturity, in his ability to handle the harsh reality of the world around them. He would prove himself worthy of that trust. Uncle recounted the tales the soldiers told of how it happened. Laurent refused to ask him to stop, as much as he wanted it.

When sleep finally did take him, his fears came true. He was haunted by the red-eyed demon, the prince-killer, stalked through his dreams, chased by his brother’s tortured screams.

He woke abruptly, sweat pouring off his body and tears falling from his eyes freely. Uncle was rising from the bed. Laurent scrambled to follow him, clutching at him even as his uncle pulled away.

“Laurent, what’s come over you?”

How could he admit the truth? He was so ashamed, ashamed of the tears still rolling down his cheeks, that he’d been having a nightmare like a helpless child, that he was mindless with panic at the thought of his uncle leaving. “Wh-where are you going?” he demanded, still clinging tight. Uncle backed up another step, causing Laurent to fall off the bed and to his knees.

 

“I am a man, Laurent. I have needs. I cannot be coddling a child every moment.” His voice was harsh, his lips twisted into a cruel sneer. Laurent wanted to cringe away, but his terror was too great.

“Please,” he begged, uncaring of his pride. “Uncle, please don’t leave.”

“I have sacrificed my own personal comfort to stay with you for many nights. Am I to be allowed no relief? To give of myself continually with nothing in return?”

Where was the kindly man who had been helping him through his grief? Where was the patient caregiver who had tucked Laurent into bed? He tried to calm himself, tried to think rationally. “If you can just stay a little longer,” he offered tearfully, “just until-”

“Until you stop being frightened of the Prince Killer? Until you stop dreaming of him finding you here in the darkness and gutting you with his sword?”

The words brought Laurent’s terror back in full force. Panic began rising in him so completely that he could not breathe. “P-please,” he begged again, leaning forward the way a slave would in supplication. “Please, I will do anything! Don’t leave me.”

“I am sure you are too young for what I need. Too innocent.” Uncle tipped his head back so that he was looking down at Laurent haughtily. Laurent shook his head.

“No, I can do it. I’m- I’m a big boy, remember?” The words stuck in his throat, but he didn’t care, didn’t care what it took for his uncle to stay, as long as he didn’t leave him alone-

“Are you sure, Laurent?” There was a hint of softness in Uncle’s voice again. Relief began creeping into Laurent’s body. Uncle would stay. He wouldn’t leave. Laurent nodded eagerly, trying to blink the tears from his eyes. Uncle’s hand rose to caress his head, fingers running through the long blonde hair there. “Alright. I’ll allow you to service me, then.” Laurent nodded again, uncaring of what service his uncle would ask of him. The fingers tightened in his hair slightly as his other hand rose and pushed down the hem of his sleeping pants. His cock sprang free, already hard. Laurent gasped and tried to jerk away, but was held fast. “Open your mouth.”

Laurent’s eyes flew up to his uncle’s in shock. Surely this couldn’t be what Uncle had meant. This was… improper. Wrong. So wrong. He brought his hands up and braced them on Uncle’s thighs, trying again to push back. “Uncle, I can’t-”

“Did you not just say that you would do anything?” Uncle demanded. The cruelty was back in his voice, his grip in Laurent’s hair tightening to the point of pain. Laurent whimpered softly. “Do you want me to leave you here for the Prince Killer?”

Terror shot through Laurent so acutely that he thought he was going to be sick with it. Damianos wasn’t here. He was in Akielos, hundreds of miles away. Still, the terror did not abate. Tears once again fell from his eyes. “Open your mouth,” Uncle ordered again. “Or I am leaving.” Laurent fought to draw in a breath. He tried to think, tried to figure out- But then his uncle was starting to turn away and panic had him gasping no! and opening his mouth.

Uncle smiled down at him. He stroked Laurent’s cheek softly, gently. “Good boy,” he praised, then pushed his hips forward.


	2. Chapter 2

Laurent did not return to his uncle’s room the next night.  His throat felt raw, both from the crying he’d done and from his uncle’s rough use of it.   All that day he stayed in bed, telling the servants he was ill.  Concerned, they brought him breakfast in bed.  The bowl of porridge had a dollop of cream atop it.  He heard his uncle demand,  _ swallow it, Laurent _ .  He threw the bowl across the room.  It shattered against the door.

 

His sleep that night was fitful.

 

The next day, he was summoned by his uncle.  When he tried to refuse, claiming illness again, he was told that his uncle would not be refused.  He was to sit in at court.  It was his duty as prince.  Slowly, he readied himself.

 

In the chamber, the Regent and the council sat around a table.  There was an empty seat at the Regent’s side for the prince.  Laurent took it, not meeting the eyes of the other men.  He ignored his uncle’s welcome and did his best to ignore the business they began to discuss.  When they finished, hours later, he rose to leave with the rest of the council members.  Uncle caught his arm and held him back.

 

“I did not see you yesterday,” he murmured.  Laurent could hear the words he didn’t say.   _ I did not see you last night _ .  “I was concerned for you.”

 

“I’m fine,” Laurent said.  He thought it would come out sounding petulant, or worse, afraid.  Instead, the words were flat.

 

“You gave the servants a hard time when they tried to assist you.  Why must you be so difficult to anyone who tries to help you?”  Again, the double meaning was clear.  Laurent said nothing.  Uncle sighed.  “I worried this would happen.  That you would become troublesome.  Bitter.  Lash out at those that love you.”  For the first time since he’d left his uncle’s room the morning before, angry and hurt, Laurent began to waver.  His uncle loved him.  They were the only family they had left.  “Perhaps it would be better if I sent you away.”

 

The words rung in Laurent’s ears and he gaped, uncomprehendingly.  Uncle studied him with calculating eyes and went on.  “There is a fort in the north, on the border of Akielos-”

 

“Uncle, no!”  Laurent’s mind had finally caught up and he felt panic fill him.

 

“-and the Lord there has sons close to your age.  Perhaps it would be better-”

 

“Uncle,  _ please _ .  You can’t send me away!”

 

For the first time, Uncle reacted to Laurent speaking.  His eyes narrowed.  “I  _ can’t _ ?”  His voice was low, dangerously silky.  “I am Regent of this empire.  I can do whatever I think is best for it, including sending the crown prince to live only a few short miles from the Akielos border.  It might do you some good.  Force you to grow up and stop acting like such a child.”

 

“Please,” Laurent begged, his voice cracking.  “I can behave.  I’m not a child.  Please don’t send me away.  Don’t send me there.”  He had slid off of his chair and was kneeling at his uncle’s feet.  There was a long silence.  Then, just as suddenly as it had come, Uncle’s icy demeanor was gone.  He looked down at Laurent tenderly.

 

“Perhaps my judgement was too hasty.  I can see you are eager to please.  We will set aside this matter for now.”   He caressed Laurent’s face gently.  Relief coursed through him so swiftly that Laurent nearly collapsed with it.

 

“Thank you, Uncle,” he breathed.

 

“I trust I will see you later on?”  His meaning was again clear.   _ I trust I will see you in my rooms tonight _ .  Laurent nodded, the relief he felt becoming twisted up with new fear.

 

“Yes, Uncle.”

 

***

 

That night, Laurent waited for long moments outside his uncle’s door, trying to find the courage to knock.  In the end, he found the courage from cowardice.  He was more afraid of being sent away, of being near the Prince Killer, than he was of his uncle’s demands.  He knocked.

 

After a glass of wine, when Uncle ordered him to kneel, he did.  He trembled, fighting the urge to jerk away, to run.  He thought of being separated from the only family he had left.  He thought of being sent to live at the border, so close to where Auguste had been slain, so close to the lands of the demon prince that a stone’s throw could reach it.  “Open your mouth,” Uncle whispered harshly.  Laurent thought of his nightmare, of the red eyed beast hunting him.  Tears fell from his eyes.  He opened his mouth.

 

Laurent learned.  He learned how to pleasure his uncle with his hand and mouth.  He learned not to fight when he was treated roughly, he learned how to breath through his nose so that he didn’t choke.  He learned the quickest ways to bring his uncle to completion, and he learned that sometimes Uncle would take his time and there was nothing Laurent could do to make it end faster.

 

He was smart, and he learned quickly.  Uncle was pleased.  There was no more talk of Laurent being sent away.  It was manageable.  And then his uncle’s hands started to wander.

 

The wine was sweeter that night.  Laurent drank it in a single gulp and asked for another.  Smiling, Uncle poured him a second glass.  When it was drained, Laurent sat on the bed and waited.  Sometimes, his uncle liked to hold him first.  Sometimes he liked to talk.  Sometimes Laurent was put on his knees immediately.  This time, Uncle pulled him back on the bed and began stroking his hands over Laurent’s body.  They lingered on his bare chest, low on his belly, then between his legs.  To his horror, Laurant found his cock stirring.

 

He squirmed, trying to displace the hand that had gripped him and was beginning to stroke, but was pinned to the bed.  His heart was racing, his blood pumping too hotly through his veins.  Something was rising inside him, overwhelming him, driving him beyond his limits- and then Uncle let him go.  Laurent whimpered.  He closed his eyes tightly against the weak sound that had come from his throat, his cheeks painted red with shame.  He ignored the sound of his uncle grabbing something off the table by the bed, the shuffle of movement, the slosh of liquid.  The tear between relief that his uncle had stopped and the desperation for something else to happen ate at him.  He was about to open his eyes, to find something, anything to say, when two slick fingers were pushed inside him.

 

A cry was torn from him and his whole body began to struggle in earnest, trying to get away from the harsh invasion.  It hurt, the stretch of it burning and sharp pain jabbing him as his muscles clamped down.  Uncle’s other hand clapped down over his mouth to stop the next cry that rose.

 

“Be quiet,” Uncle hissed.  “Do you want the servants to see you like this?  The soldiers?”  Laurent forced his throat to still as mortification briefly overcame the pain.  He was naked in his uncle’s bed, his cock hard and his uncle’s fingers buried in his body.  No one could see this.  No one could know.  “Good boy,” Uncle praised softly,  He lifted his hand from Laurent’s mouth, but still kept him pinned to the bed.  “You’ll get used to it.  It’ll start to feel good.”

 

“Don’t-” Laurent’s plea was cut off as his uncle began to move his fingers, thrusting them roughly in and out.  He knew what was coming.  He’d seen coupling between men.  Suddenly, amid the fear, Laurent realized just how  _ young _ he was.  He wasn’t ready for this.  And this act between family members was shameful.  “Uncle, please!”

 

“Now, now,” Uncle chided, his breath coming in harsh pants.  “I know you’re frightened, but look at how much you want this.  Look at how your body craves it.  You were made for this, Laurent.  Your body is so perfect, so beautiful…  You were born to have a man between your legs.”

 

“No,” Laurent closed his eyes against the words, terrified to contemplate that they might be true.  “Please stop,” he begged.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.  There will be pain, but I’ll make you feel good, too.  I have you.”  In a quick movement, the fingers were withdrawn and Laurent was rolled to his stomach.  His legs were kicked apart.  Almost as an afterthought, a pillow was pushed under his hips, canting them up slightly.  Laurent had never felt so exposed.  So helpless.  His uncle’s hand clamped down over his mouth again, in anticipation of a scream.  He lined himself up and drove forward.

 

Laurent did, indeed, scream.  The sound was muffled against his uncle’s hand.  Eventually, he ran out of breath.  He tried to inhale and found his nose had been obscured as well.  Suddenly, the awful pain was not his only focus.  He struggled, sobbing, trying desperately to gasp for air, his entire body trembling in pain.  “Quiet, now,” Uncle commanded.  “I’ll move my hand, but you can’t scream again.  Do you understand?”

 

He nodded, chest on fire with the need to breathe.  Uncle lifted his hand and he took in huge gasps of breath, trying to stifle his sobs so that he wouldn’t be cut off from air again.  Suddenly he had to grit his teeth not to scream as his uncle drew back and thrust into him once more.  The pain was beyond anything he’d ever experienced.  It burned and throbbed, stealing all rational thought.  Escape was impossible with his uncle’s much larger body pressing him to the mattress.  No amount of squirming could dislodge him.  He pulled back, then drove forward again.

 

Laurent couldn’t think of anything but the desire for it to end.  He did not know what pleas fell from his lips or how he begged.  His only thought was escape, respite.  His uncle ignored him.  As his pace increased, he slipped his hand under Laurent’s hips and grasped his cock again.  He squeezed and Laurent had to bite his tongue not to cry out.  “That’s it,” Uncle whispered to him.  “Take it.  It feels good, doesn’t it?”  Laurent gasped and shook his head against it.  The pain was still immense, but to his horror, what his uncle was doing at his front did bring pleasure.  He couldn’t believe it was possible.  His uncle’s sure hand was working him towards a completion that Laurent did not want, but there was no way for him to struggle.

 

Finally, with a wordless cry, an orgasm was wrenched from him.  It was dry, as he was not yet old enough to produce fluid, but his uncle’s was not.  Wet heat filled him, a small sensation amid the pain, but somehow the most shameful.  A moment later, Uncle rolled off and caught his breath.  Laurent wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.  He wanted to run from the room.  Instead, he lay as if paralyzed, dazed by what had happened.  It wasn’t until his uncle moved closer to him that Laurent shifted on his side so that they would not touch.  He didn’t think he could bear to be touched.

 

“Good boy,” Uncle praised, his voice sickly sweet.  “You did so well for me, Laurent.  Soon you’ll be able to take my cock without that useless struggling.  You’ll come to crave it.”

 

“No,” Laurent whispered, horrified by the prospect.  Did his uncle really mean to make him into a pet?  A whore?  As if he had read Laurent’s mind, his uncle leaned forward and swiped a finger through the slick release that had dripped onto Laurent’s thigh.

 

“Yes.  Only a true slut would come on their first fucking.  You really were made for this.  You’ll be a perfect little pet.”  He shoved his finger into Laurent’s mouth, depositing the tainted fluid on his tongue.

 

Laurent finally snapped.  He jerked back to hard that he fell off the bed, landing on his hands and knees.  He retched, body eager to expel its contents.  When the heaving subsided, he rose to his feet.  “No.  I’m not your pet.  I am crown prince of Vere.  I am the king’s son.  You cannot treat me this way.  One word of this is all it would take to have you executed.”  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring defiantly at his uncle.  There was a pause, then Uncle reclined on the pillows and laughed.

 

“You think anyone would believe you?  You’re nothing but a worthless brat.  A foolish child, known for lies and mischief.  Tell anyone you want.  Not only will no one believe you, but you’ll be branded a deviant.  Only someone with a truly perverted mind would make up such a story.  They’ll wonder where you even got the idea.  Whether perhaps your brother introduced you to such things.  They’ll remember the way you idealized him, followed him like a lost puppy, and they’ll wonder if you spread your legs for him.”

 

“That’s repulsive!”  Laurent could think of nothing more repugnant.  Auguste had been pure and noble.  The idea that he would have even  _ thought _ of something like this was sickening.

 

“That’s what people will say.  Do you really want to tarnish your own reputation and sully your brother’s name?”

 

It was only then that Laurent saw how neatly he’d been boxed in.  His uncle had all the power.  There was nothing he could do.  “I’ll never let you touch me again,” he swore.

 

“Oh, I think you will.  I think you’ll beg me to let you back into my bed.”

 

“Never.”  Laurent stormed out of the room.

***

He woke up the next morning sore and puffy eyed from crying. The horrible taste had never truly abated from his mouth, and the pain between his legs bit him viciously. A bath had been laid out for him, which he sank into immediately. By the time he had finished soaking, he felt marginally better. It wasn’t until he began his morning ablutions that he discovered the pain and humiliation were not over. He had to bite his arm until there were bloody, crescent furrows in it not to cry out in pain as he relieved himself. He thought of the palace physician and the many salves and ointments he had that could soothe and numb. But how could Laurent ever explain such a need? He was so alone.

After drying his eyes, he left his room, determined not to hide inside it like a coward. At first, he did not notice anything amiss. Servants bustled about, soldiers lined the courtyard. It wasn’t until he entered the banquet hall for breakfast that he realized the Regent’s guard were gone. His uncle had left.

Had Laurent thought himself alone before? Had he thought himself cast off and helpless? No, that was now. Now, when the only family left to him had deserted him. Now, when there was no one there to comfort him. All the horrors that passed between them on his uncle’s bed fell away and for a moment the only thing he could recall was how his uncle had been the one to piece him back together after Marlas. How kind his words had been, how steady his presence. Laurent needed him.

He sought out a council member to demand to know where the Regent had gone. The answer sent a bolt of terror straight through his heart. He’d ridden north, intending to inspect some of the forts. They weren’t sure when he would return. He’d said there was a matter he’d needed to attend to. A family matter.

After that, Laurent did not think himself a coward for hiding in his room the rest of the day. Or the one after. He closed himself inside with his fears. Uncle had left him. He was alone. Not only that, but he’d gone north, toward Akielos. Was the barbarian prince killer stalking the border, waiting for his chance to kill the only remaining member of Laurent’s family? Or had his uncle gone to one of the forts to make arrangements for Laurent to be moved there? Was he planning to send him away? The thought stole his breath.

By the end of the week, the Regent still had not returned. Laurent crumbled further, collapsing into himself. By the end of a fortnight, he could not eat or sleep. When he saw the red banners of the Regent’s guard, he wept. At the welcoming banquet that night, his uncle ignored him completely, leaving Laurent trailing after him pitifully all evening. Then, when Laurent knocked on his door after the rest of the palace was asleep, it was many long minutes before the door was opened. His uncle stood tall, arrogant, unyielding. Laurent felt very small under his cold gaze.

“Please,” he whispered softly, “please let me in.”

“I won’t waste my time with crybabies and nasty little sluts who can’t keep their mouths shut.”

“No, Uncle.” 

“Are you truly penitent?”

“Yes, yes, please-”

“Prove it. Get on your knees and beg.”

Laurent fell to his knees. He lowered his forehead to the floor. “Please, Uncle, please forgive me. Please let me back into your bed.”

There was a pause, as if the Regent was considering. Then, his booted foot was thrust forward. “Kiss it,” he ordered. Shame scalded Laurent so hotly that he thought he would be burned alive with it, but he lowered his lips to the leather and kissed his uncle’s boot. “Good boy.”

The door was finally opened enough to allow Laurent to crawl inside. He climbed onto the bed and waited, relief and fear twisting him up inside. He’d begged entrance into the viper’s pit. Now, the viper himself was slithering towards the bed with a lecherous glint in his eye. “Take off your nightshirt,” he ordered, stripping off his own clothes, “and turn over.”

Laurent trembled. He reminded himself that this was the way it had to be. There was no other choice. He did as he was told.


	3. Chapter 3

All the pieces of who Laurent had been fell away that summer.  The open affection he’d been known to show, the occasionally shy, bookish nature, his sweetness, were all banished.  Instead, he became determined.  He had always been good at learning, and now he threw himself into it headlong.

 

The mock training he’d received in his youth was replaced with real lessons, and woe to the instructor who dared go easy on him.  He studied strategy, negotiation, every form of double-play that there was.

 

The autumn after his fourteenth birthday he learned about drugs and poisons.  He demanded that the palace physician explain every known type to him.  The ones that would render a man unconscious, the ones that could freeze his limbs.  The aphrodisiacs that rendered a man helpless to his lusts, and how they could all be masked in wine.  He never took another drink his uncle offered him, and could never be forced to orgasm by his hand again.

 

Free of the drugs, he learned rigid control of his body.  It maddened his uncle, drove him to threats and rages, but Laurent had begun to learn the art of working around him.  If his uncle cast him out of his rooms one night, accusing him of being frigid or not working hard enough to please him, Laurent allowed it.  He accepted his uncle’s acrid words.  He anticipated the threats of being turned out of the palace, of being cast away.  Then, the next day, he would gaze a little too long at the handsome servant who brought breakfast.  He would linger, just a moment more than was necessary, sucking a drop of juice off his thumb as he ate a piece of fruit.  He took his horse from the stable when the Regent was in the courtyard and let himself be seen riding her.  Galloping across the flat plain, moving in perfect rhythm with her, straining towards their goal.

 

Those nights, when he went to his uncle’s rooms, there would be no further threats.  He would spend the day that followed sore from abuse, but his position would once more be secured.

 

***

 

Laurent did not like what his uncle did to him.  He took no pleasure from it- not even forced pleasure now that he knew not to drink the drugged wine.  He often fantasized that one day he would walk into his uncle’s rooms and discover that the old man’s dick had rotted off in the night.  He hated that something so pleasurable for everyone else had been utterly and permanently ruined for him.  It was possible that he’d simply been born a frigid bitch, but now he would never know.

 

At fifteen, he was nearing the age when other boys were beginning to explore sex.  He was sure that if he  was to orgasm now, it would no longer be dry.  Though he was still slim and pale and well formed, areas of his skin that had once been bare were beginning to grow fine, golden hair.  In another life, he might have been proud of those changes.  Instead, he noticed his uncle curling his lip in disgust at them.

 

His advancing age heralded the end of his uncle’s sexual interest in him.  That elated Laurent.  And yet, he still felt a strange pang of resentment at his body’s changes.  He was going to be cast aside.  Not from the palace, not from his uncle’s company, no, but from his bed.  A bed Laurent did not want to be in.  So why did he stare down at his body as if it was betraying him?

 

Now that he knew his uncle’s proclivities intimately, he knew that the pets that had come before him, the perfect youths that had been his companions, had warmed his bed.  Whether willingly or coerced, Laurent wasn’t certain.  All of them had left his service before their fifteenth birthdays.  The regent did not waste himself on burgeoning men when he could purchase the perfect bloom of youth.

 

Perhaps Laurent should have taken it as the ultimate compliment that he was the oldest boy his uncle had fucked.  He’d lasted the longest, whether from the added taboo of incest or the beauty of Laurent’s form - even in the cusp of adulthood - or just because he took malicious delight in raping and humiliating his nephew.  Still, it wouldn’t last forever.  It couldn’t.  Laurent had been counting down the days from the moment his voice had broken.

 

Which is why he expected it when the Regent found a boy to distract himself with at one of the forts.  He’d stayed back, unwilling to go closer to Akielos.  When he’d heard that the Lord there had young sons, he’d thought _this might be it_.  And when his uncle had not returned that night, he had not been surprised.

 

What had surprised him, however, was the crushing feeling of _loss_.

 

He was relieved.  Of course he was.  To not be the one his uncle was forcing his cock into night after night was bliss.  And yet, Laurent felt unwanted.  Unloved.  Alone.  The only man who’d ever touched him - the only man that ever _would_ , Laurent swore vehemently - was no longer interested in him.  He was spoiled fruit, over-ripe and only fit to be thrown away.  He wanted to cry.  He wanted to be held.  Beyond all reason, he wanted to be comforted by the very man whose clutches he’d been trying to escape for years.

 

It was so twisted.   _He_ was twisted.

 

Tainted.

 

Perhaps he was just as deviant as his uncle.  The shame of it ate at him.  It made him question everything he’d come to know about himself.  It made him hate himself as surely as he hated his uncle.

 

Three nights later, the Regent had returned from the fort and the royal procession had gone back to the castle.  That night, Laurent did not go to his uncle’s rooms.  He fought his own demons, his self-loathing, and then when he’d finally fallen asleep, he’d fought nightmares of a demon prince chasing him, its huge form turned marionette with his uncle pulling the strings.

 

At breakfast, he did not look at his uncle.  He did not speak to anyone.  When the meal was over, he rose to leave swiftly.  A strong hand on his arm pulled him back.  The rest of the room emptied, and Laurent turned his cool, impassive gaze to his uncle.

 

“Were you ill last eve?” he asked with deceptive concern.

 

“I was,” Laurent answered with a sneer.  “A vision of you and some lowly lord’s quivering son turned my stomach.”

 

“Are you _jealous_ , pet?”

 

Laurent scoffed.  The idea was insane.  He was not jealous.  Who would be jealous that their rapist had chosen a new victim?  It made no sense.  None at all.  “Relieved, is more like it.  Just because I’m glad to know that I’ve outgrown your taste doesn’t mean that the idea of you fucking some other little boy isn’t still sickening to me.”  He turned to stalk from the room, but he was caught back again, this time in a bruising grip on his wrist.

 

“You might be getting too old to be a decent lay any more, but that mouth of yours is still pretty, and I’ve trained it well.  I haven’t finished with you until I _say_ I’m fucking finished with you.  I expect to see you tonight.”

 

Frustration and anger and the smallest, slightest sliver of _relief_ rose in Laurent and he ripped his wrist from his uncle’s grip.  “While your dick is still wet from your new toy?  I don’t think so.”  He walked away from the table.

 

“Tonight, Laurent.  You’ll come to me on your knees, or you can go meet my new toy yourself.  Isn’t it about time you did border patrol, anyway?”

 

Fear quickened Laurent’s pulse to the point of pain.  “You wouldn’t.”

 

“On your knees,” the Regent repeated flatly.

 

That night, when his uncle opened the door to his rooms, Laurent dropped to his knees, broken.  “Good boy,” Uncle murmured to him, drawing him inside.

 

***

 

By Laurent’s sixteenth birthday, he was stronger and better in battle than his uncle.  He had formed the Prince’s Guard, and though they were still a motley bunch, they were talented and loyal.

 

There was no reason for him to continue going to his uncle’s rooms.  He did not go that night.  If he expected censure for it in the morning, he was proven wrong.  The Regent barely seemed to notice his presence.  The morning after that gave the same results.  It seemed that Laurent finally had outgrown his use.  He struggled with the same feelings of self loathing and confusion that had plagued him half a year earlier, but this time he was better prepared for them.  He accepted that he was twisted, damaged beyond repair.  His uncle still loved him, and a part of Laurent _needed_ that love.  Despite all the sickening games, they were still family.

 

He hated his uncle.  He did not love him.  But they were all each other had in the world.  What a pair they made, two repulsive, blackened souls.  A matched set.

 

By the time the Regent selected a new pet, Laurent found that he harbored no jealousy for the boy.  Not even in the darkest pits of himself, where ugly things lived.  Occasionally, when he got too out of hand, his uncle let himself into Laurent’s room at night and disciplined him.  It was about humiliation, not sexual gratification.  He did not raise a hand to defend himself, but he no longer went to his knees.  He’d sworn to himself that he never would again.  Nothing, no power on the earth, could make him revoke that vow.  He had grown strong enough, smart enough, to take that gamble.  

 

The new pet did not have that luxury, and he would be gone long before he ever had the chance to gain it.  No, Laurent only felt pity for the boy.

 

Laurent’s audacity, his refusal to kneel, brought back the threats of being sent to the border. This time, Laurent called his bluff.  Despite the Regent’s recommendation to the council, the prince was old enough now that he could not be forced to such things.  It was their first real sparring, and Laurent came away with the win.

 

Over the next two years, they continued to circle each other like dogs after the same bone.  They played intricate, cold games.  The Regent was a master manipulator and a brilliant strategist, but Laurent had learned from the best.  More than once he thought it again- a matched set.

 

Just before he turned eighteen, Laurent won another spar.  His uncle was furious.  Not only had Laurent gained a new holding, he’d disrespected the Regent in front of the council and there hadn’t been anything he could rebut it with.

 

That night, he entered Laurent’s rooms without knocking.  The prince had been expecting him.  He was still wearing his clothes, covered in tight cloth from neck to toe, reclining in a chair by the fire.

 

“Insolent little brat,” Uncle hissed at him, knocking the book he’d been reading from his grasp.  “How dare you speak that way to me before the council.”

 

“Oh dear, Uncle,” Laurent said in mock concern.  “Did you lose face with your conspirators?”

 

“Shut up!  You’re going to regret trying to make me look like a fool.  I’m going to fuck that nasty mouth of yours until you can’t speak any more!”

 

“You’re not tall enough for that,” Laurent observed dryly.

 

“You still think you’re above kneeling for me?”

 

“I’m not above _anything_ , Uncle.  But I’m still not getting on my knees for you.”

 

They stared at each other, feeling their resolves.  “Fine,” the Regent finally conceded sweetly.  “I’ll bend you over and fuck you until you can’t sit for a month.  You just make things more painful for yourself in the end, nephew.”  He jerked Laurent to his feet and shoved him against the mantle, forcing his head down so that his hips were slightly cocked back.  He kicked Laurent’s legs apart as he’d done a thousand times before.  With clawing fingers he shoved the tightly laced breeches down.

 

Laurent looked back over his shoulder, eyes cold.  The firelight cast him in a glow, making his hair appear more golden, his skin slightly darker.  For a moment, the Regent saw not Laurent, but Auguste.  He quelled.  Still, the rage that beat in his veins would not be ignored.  He forced himself to look again, to see that this wasn’t the dead eldest prince, but his younger, fairer brother.  The boy he’d fucked and broken years before.  Studying Laurent restored his courage, but it also reminded him that there was no boy before him any longer.  Laurent was a man, strong and agile.  Leaning against the mantle he was a perfect picture of restrained power, coiled and capable of exploding at any moment.

 

Laurent’s eyes traveled down to where his uncle had exposed himself.  His cock was soft, innocuous against his thigh.  “Can’t get it up?” he asked casually.  His uncle snarled at him and shoved his head back down, staring at the pale, flawless flesh before him.  Flesh that was attached to a lean, well muscled back.  That led to powerful arms.  The Regent did not face men more powerful than he.  His only interest was in those weaker than himself.  Laurent was not weaker.  He could not get his cock to rise.

 

The prince laughed derisively.  He turned and pulled his breeches back up, lacing them into place.  “Get out of my rooms,” he ordered.  The Regent seethed.  Hatred stole through him like a poison.  His hand rose and thick fingers wrapped around Laurent’s throat.

 

“One day, you are going to kneel for me again, slut,” he swore.

 

“I would destroy myself and  anyone around me before ever kneeling for you again.  There will never be anything that could make me.”  He jerked his neck out of the Regent’s grasp, the move quick and easy.  “I told you to get the fuck out of my rooms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing, anyone?
> 
> The next chapter will be the start of where the books begin!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are folks, the start of the series. This chapter covers the events up to the pet show, in which Damen fights Govart. 
> 
> In future chapters, I will include a short summary of what happens in the books and what parts I don't cover here in case you haven't read them in a while, but aside from specifics of conversation, most of the plot is addressed.
> 
> Enjoy!

They had been playing their games of treachery for years now, but this time, Laurent felt his uncle had gone too far.  Whatever treaty he’d made with the bastard Akielos king, having a barbarian sent as a slave to the crown prince was an outright insult.  The handler of the ship had already told him that the ‘pleasure slave’ he had been gifted was not trained as the others, but a wild brute.  They’d had to keep him drugged to control him.

 

Still, despite the insult, Laurent was surprised at his uncle’s error.  Did he think that Laurent was yet a little boy who would be frightened of an Akielos soldier?  Did he think that Laurent was still haunted by nightmares of Damianos the Prince Killer, red eyed demon wielding a fiery sword?  It was foolish of him to have made such a mistake.  Laurent would break the slave and then send him away.  The rumours of his frigidity would grow.  He didn’t give a damn.

 

When he walked into the viewing, he was prepared to face a big, dumb brute.  Govert came to mind.  Darker skinned, perhaps.  Laurent had even prepared himself for the possibility that the man would look like Damianos.  They were of the same race, and even of a similar build by the sounds of it.

 

What he hadn’t prepared for - could not have expected, never in a thousand years would have thought it possible - was for him to come face to face with Damianos himself.  He felt his face blanche white and his vision swam.  Terror the likes of which he hadn’t felt in years swelled inside him.  The prince killer was in the palace, huge and deadly as Laurent’s childhood nightmares had always made him out to be.  The man who’d slaughtered Auguste was right in front of him, less than a hand span away.

 

In a beat, Laurent composed himself.  He hadn’t slipped like that in a long time.  Nothing but the shock of such ultimate sabotage could have caused it.  Suddenly, he understood that his uncle had not made a mistake.  It had been a coldly calculated move.  One designed to win him not just a battle, but the war.

 

Laurent would not allow that to happen.  He formed his own plans quickly, steeled himself, then spoke to his brother’s murderer.

 

***

 

Despite the fact that Damen had been chained down at his feet, Laurent could admit that he’d still felt a frisson of fear in the man’s presence.  Damianos of Akielos was a study in uninhibited power.  He was huge, his body sculpted with training, one of his hands big enough to wrap around Laurent’s neck and snap it.   Still, when Laurent allowed himself the luxury of privacy to think, he realized that his new slave was far from the nightmarish beast that had haunted his childhood.  The figures were the same, yes, but Damen had intelligent brown eyes, not mad red ones.  His hands were bound in slave’s gold and heavy chains, not armed with a flaming sword.  He was virtually powerless.

 

There ought to have been some comfort to that.

 

Instead, Laurent found himself further maddened by it.  This was not how he’d envisioned meeting Damianos of Akielos.  This was not how he’d thought he would face the prince killer.  It seemed… wrong.  The man chained in his harem - a name given to that room as a joke by his guards, as no whores were allowed near Laurent at any time - was the same man who had destroyed his life.

 

If Auguste hadn’t died, nothing would be the same.  Laurent had realized, years ago, that his older brother knew of their uncle’s proclivities.  He also knew of his interest in the younger prince.  Auguste had been protecting Laurent.  He had said something or done something that had made their uncle stay away, and he had tried to warn Laurent of the danger as well.

 

_ You are too old to be getting into bed with a man, Laurent, even a family member, _  Auguste had said.   _ And if anyone tries- _  There, Laurent’s memory had for so long failed him.  It hadn’t been until much later that the rest of the words had come back to him.   _ And if anyone tries, you run away and come straight to me.  I will never let anyone harm you. _

 

At the time, it hadn’t made sense.  What harm could come from being in bed with a member of his family?  So he’d dismissed the promise, not realizing the depth of Auguste’s words.  Not until it was far too late.

 

If Auguste had lived, the Regent would never have laid a hand on Laurent.  That thought tormented him.  His life would have been so different.  And so he hated Damen, not just for Auguste’s death, which was enough to want to slaughter the prince outright, but for the death of the man Laurent would have been, as well.  He’d murdered them both in a single stroke.

 

Laurent lifted his water goblet to his lips and realized his hands were shaking.  He forced away bravado and cunning and faced the barest truth of himself.  He was afraid.  He did not want to be anywhere near the demon of his nightmares, even stripped of his flaming sword.  The thought of facing him in flesh and blood chilled Laurent to his bones.  He felt the loss of his brother all over again.  He felt the pain of the loss of his innocence as acutely as if it had happened moments ago instead of years.  Damen brought those things back.  Panic clawed up Laurent’s throat.

 

He could not face his brother’s killer like this.  He refused.  So he did something he had not done in a very long time.  He ordered a glass of wine and downed it in a single drink.  In only moments, the alcohol was singing in his veins.  A second glass followed the first, sickly sweet on his tongue and nauseating.

 

After the third, he rose and went to face his new slave.

 

***

 

The liquid courage had taken him further than he anticipated.  He’s spoken to Damen.  Insulted him.  Pointed out the scar that Auguste had given him.  He’d even taken a page from his uncle’s book and ordered the slave to crawl to him.  The request had left a sour feeling in his stomach that he’d refused to acknowledge.

 

All in all, he’d been doing well.  Better than he’d anticipated.  And then, his uncle had arrived.  Having the two men responsible for his torment in the same room was stifling, constricting.  He had to purposely slow his breathing so that it wasn’t apparent he was struggling for air.

 

When his uncle had waved the treaty in his face, Laurent had wanted to strangle them both.  Did the Regent really expect him to be made a toy again, this time by his brother’s killer?  The idea was ludicrous.  There was nothing that could entice Laurent to agree to it, not even the threat of the border, which Laurent now feared for a different reason.

 

But no, his uncle knew that he could not corner Laurent into that.  He only expected the slave to remain alive.  Laurent could not dispose of him, could not seek vengeance for his brother’s death under the guise of killing a slave.  Those were the Regent’s orders, and they could not be disobeyed.  With one final, scathing look at Damen, Laurent agreed.  He needed to get out of the room, needed space to think, to breathe-

 

His face a mask of scorn and casual impatience to hide his desperation to leave, Laurent fled the room as quickly as he could.

 

***

 

That night, Laurent once again had nightmares of the Prince Killer.  This time, he was not chasing him through the halls of the palace, armed with his flaming sword.  Instead, he waited in opulent chambers while Laurent went to  _ him _ .  He crawled, head bowed low to the floor and body shaking.  Laurent was the one in slave’s cuffs.  Damen studied him, then ordered him to rise.  Suddenly they were both naked.  Laurent felt vulnerable, exposed, terrified of what was to come.  Damen bent him over the bed and kicked his legs apart, then leaned down to whisper in his ear.  “Be a good boy and scream for me.”

 

He woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest and his head nearly splitting.  He was hungover, furious, and determined to exact revenge on the man who’d starred in his nightmare.

 

There was a pet show that afternoon, and though they filled Laurent with horror, he thought it only fitting that Damen be subjected to it.  It felt like some small recompense.  An eye for an eye.  And since Damen was bigger and stronger than Laurent had been at thirteen, he added one more factor to the mix, to make the recreation of his own suffering accurate.  He arranged for Damen to meet his rape drugged and helpless.

 

He expected to feel relief when the arrangements were made.  Glee, even.  Instead, his stomach churned.  By the time he walked into the pet show, he was nearly sick with what he was going to have to watch.  Still, he would not turn back.  This was fitting.  For his brother, for the boy he’d been all those years ago, he would endure it.

 

Instead of watching the show as the pets wrestled each other for dominance, Laurent watched Damen.  Saw the exact moment he realized what the pet shows were for, and what he would be subjected to.  He wanted to witness dawning fear.  Instead, he saw disgust crawl over the barbarian’s face.  Was he really unafraid of being violated, or did he think himself unbeatable?

 

Even when his opponent was revealed, what Laurent saw on Damen’s face was not the terror that had surely been evident on his own just before his struggle had begun, but calculation.  He was looking at every angle, seeing how to win the fight.  When the two men circled each other, there was no pause in his steps or tremor in his body.  In fact, if not that he’d given the order to have Damen drugged himself, he would think that the Akielos was fighting unhindered.

 

Suddenly Laurent was struck with the desire to see how he fought at full strength.

 

Just when it seemed Govert would get the upper hand, Damen brought his slave cuff up against Govert’s temple, knocking him unconscious.  The crowd collectively sighed in disappointment.  They’d been eager to see the Akielos slave mounted, stripped of his dignity.  Or at the very least to see Govert, who many of them despised, fucked into the dirt.   

 

Only someone who has seen a gladiator sway the opinions of a crowd and was smart enough to learn from it could have done what Damen did next.  He crawled forward, the very picture of a broken, docile slave, and dedicated his victory to Laurent’s name.  Having him on his knees at Laurent’s feet, feigning loyalty in such an overt display, made something dark and ugly stir in Laurent.  Perhaps it was his position, on his knees.  Perhaps it was the frustration of his plans to see Damen humiliated and violated.  Perhaps it was simply because he was, like the’d always thought, just as twisted as his uncle.  When he had returned on his knees after that first act of defiance, Uncle had put him through an exercise in abject humiliation.  Slowly, Laurent extended his foot, seeking the same.

 

“Kiss it.”

 

There was a moment when Laurent thought he was going to refuse.  He thought of how it had shamed him to do that very thing, prince of a nation, on his knees kissing a boot.  The greasy feeling in his stomach wasn’t sympathy, it was justice.  This was fair.  Because of the prince killer, Laurent had made the humiliating kiss.  Now, the prince killer himself would do it. Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the leather.  Laurent had to fight not to jerk his foot away.  He kept his face perfectly impassive, as always.  The room cheered.

 

When Councilor Guion congratulated his success in breaking the rabid slave, Laurent brushed it off.  Now that the spectacle was over, he wanted to get away.  He wanted to hide and collect himself.  He wanted away from the games of his own making that he was beginning to find distasteful.  In another moment, he would claim fatigue and sweep from the room, ordering his slave chained in the harem once more to wait his orders.

 

Then the unthinkable happened.  Audin wanted to offer the slave a reward.  After all, he reasoned, the crowd’s expectations had been disappointed.  Why not give him a slave to mount so that they could still see him perform?  Laurent felt bile rise in his throat.  The slave at his side was Nicaise.  His uncle’s latest pet.  So young.  Smaller even than Laurent had been at that age.  Against his will, Laurent’s eyes flicked to Damen’s cock, lying flaccid between his legs.  Even soft, it was in monstrous proportion with the rest of his size.  It would split the boy in half.

 

His mind raced, forming and discarding ideas to get him out of this without losing face.  He could not risk angering the crowd, not with councillors and supporters alike there.  He would need many of these people later on.

 

Could he really watch Damen rape Nicaise?

 

The boy’s chest was heaving in fright, his eyes stark.  He was careful not to turn them to Laurent.  Again, Laurent fought the need to vomit.  Had he thought the night would be a recreation of his own torment?  He’d been more right than he’d realized.  He would get to see it first hand, would get to watch his nightmare played out.  Was he really so cowardly that he would sacrifice Nicaise for his own future?

 

“Do whatever you want to me.  I’m not going to rape a child.”  The words were spoken with finality, a wealth of disgust in them.  Laurent turned to the man he’d believed untold horrors of.  The man he hated even more than his uncle.  The man who’d just forfeited his life for the sake of a boy he didn’t know.  The man who’d just proven, beyond a doubt, that he was better, more honorable, than either the Regent or the crown prince of Vere.

 

It had never occurred to Laurent that Damen would refuse.  He hadn’t thought the slave and his uncle were cut from the same cloth, no, but the prince killer was a barbarian.  A murderer.  Akieloss had no morals, no shame.  Except this one did.  He could have kept the approval of the crowd by taking the boy.  Why should he refuse?  After all, there would be no pain for him.  If his reputation was to be believed, he was a powerful, virile lover.

 

He had refused.

 

Laurent quickly schooled his features, slipping into the cool, unaffected mask once more.  Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “why not?”  He needed to know.  Damen’s eyes swung to his full of revulsion.

 

“ _ Why not _ ?” he echoed the question, slipping into his native language at his outrage.  “I do not share your craven habit of hitting only those who cannot hit back, and I take no pleasure in hurting those weaker than myself.”  The words hit Laurent like a physical blow.  It took all of his willpower to stay steady.  He was reminded, starkly, of how his uncle could only find pleasure in hurting and  humiliating boys so much smaller than himself.  He thought of the day, two years ago now, when he’d ripped down Laurent’s breeches with the intention of fucking him, only to find that he was incapable.  In the face of strength, of power, of someone who could fight back - even if they wouldn’t - he was unmanned.

 

For a reason he did not want to examine too closely, Laurent felt a lash of shame strike him.  Then another.  When he was asked what the slave had said translated the gist of it, declining on Damen’s behalf.  Then he rose to leave the room, calling for his horse as he went.  His only thought was of escape.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, let me just say that I've been utterly blown away by the amazing reviews you all have been leaving. Every author dreams of getting this kind of in depth feedback on their work, and I am so, so grateful to each and every one of you!
> 
> And now, on to the story! We pick up at the end of the pet show (chapter 3, page 51 in the US paperback version) and go through to Laurent's punishment for flogging Damen (page 94). You'll notice that i leave a lot of the political stuff out, Mostly because I feel that it's explained enough in the books and because I tend to write more character centric stories than plot centric. Hopefully there's no confusion : )

The horse moved beneath him in perfect synchrony with his body, powerful muscles bunching and flexing as they flew across the flat expanse of land.  Auguste had broken this horse for him.  She’d been a present, sleek and beautiful and pliant as clay beneath his touch.  She was a living link to his brother, proof that he could use gentleness and affection to train rather than fear and the lash.

 

At the moment, Laurent felt ashamed to be riding her.

 

His mind turned again to the look in Nicaise’s face when he was offered up as the slave’s reward.  It made him shudder.  He tried to lay aside everything else and be totally, brutally honest with himself.  It was something he’d been able to do in the past, despite the answers not always being the ones he wanted.  Now, he asked himself if he really could have allowed Nicasie to be raped for the crowd’s amusement.

 

He thought of the first time he’d seen the boy in the palace, frightened and unsure of his place.  Two weeks later, Laurent had been headed to the kitchens, unable to sleep, when he’d found Nicaise trying to break into the physician’s storeroom.  The boy had been sobbing in pain.  At the sight of the prince, he’d begged for Laurent not to tell the Regent.  Laurent hadn’t said a word to him. He’d opened the storeroom, dropped the salve he needed into the child’s hands, and walked away.

 

Nicaise had never asked how Laurent knew what he’d been looking for.  Perhaps he assumed that the crown prince had seen evidence of his uncle’s abuse on his pets before.  Or maybe, with those intelligent eyes of his, he saw the dark and terrible truth, that Laurent had once been in his place.  They never spoke of it.

 

A month later, Nicaise had found his way to Laurent’s rooms.  He’d been limping, trying desperately to compose himself, shaking so violently that he could barely stay upright.  Laurent had admitted him without a word, tended to the boy’s injuries, and held him until the sun rose.  That as well, they never spoke of.  In public, as his security in his position grew, Nicaise became almost unbearably haughty and petulant.  He was a brat.  Spoiled.  He showed disdain for everyone and everything, especially the prince.  It was only in the dark of night, when he was totally overcome, that all those facades fell away and he sought comfort from the man who could understand and would not judge him.

 

It had been months since Nicaise had come to his rooms.  The verbal abuse Laurent had taken from the boy in the time between should have been enough for him to be uncaring as to Nicaise’s fate.  But Laurent knew the words for what they really were, bravado and bitterness.  He could not fault the boy when his own reactions had been so much the same.  They were kindred, he and Nicaise.  Laurent could not save him, but he had wanted to protect him the only way he could.

 

Could he really have let him be raped by Damen?

 

The honest truth was that Laurent didn’t know.  He would have thought of something, would have found some clever ruse to deny the request.  But if there had been no possibility of evasion, if the choice really had been sacrifice Nicaise or risk his future, Laurent wasn’t sure what he would have done.  He didn’t think he could have watched, didn’t think he would have had the strength for it.  But he didn’t know.  That thought disgusted him.

 

The barbarian murderer had known.  He’d made his choice.  It had been instant, without need of thought.  Sacrifice himself to save the child.   _ Do whatever you want with me _ , he’d said.  There had been no ploy, no game, no ulterior motive.  Simple honor and sacrifice.

 

Laurent felt as though the world had been shifted beneath his feet.  This was the man that Laurent had sworn vengeance against.  The one he’d longed to kill, slowly and painfully.  The one who’d plagued Laurent’s nightmares.  Now, he knew that the Prince Killer would not have stalked him through the halls of the palace after his brother’s death.  He would not have hunted Laurent and laughed at his fear, his pain.  Laurent had been even younger than Nicaise.  Damen would not have harmed him.  Damen would have defended him.

 

Suddenly Laurent wondered what Damen would have done if he’d seen, back then, what his uncle was doing to him.

 

The answer seemed obvious.  And yet it changed everything.  It made Laurent unbearably angry.  He hated Damen all over again.  He was not supposed to make Laurent question everything he knew to be true.  The world was easier in black and white.  Shades of grey created painful confusion.  Laurent did not want to be confused.  Damen was his brother’s killer.  He was a barbarian, a beast, deserving of just punishment before he was put down like a rabid dog.  He was not supposed to be honorable.  He was not supposed to have morals, to protect those weaker than himself, even if they were his enemy.

 

It was an affront to Auguste’s memory.  And as the rage boiled within him, Laurent made plans to make him pay for it.

 

***

 

He had to wait nearly a week before all the pieces fell into place.  But his patience paid off.  The Regent left to hunt.  There was no one left in the palace to question Laurent’s authority.  He sent his orders, then made his way to the baths.  Every step closer brought fear rising in his throat that he struggled to force down.  Perhaps this was his own punishment, forcing himself to face his oldest fear, to offer himself as bait.  But he did not balk.  He reclined against the wall of the baths and waited.  In moments, Damen entered, alone.  They were the only ones inside.  The unease in Laurent spiked, but he refused to let it show.

 

They bantered.  Damen reminded him again that he had more moral fiber than the leaders of Vere.  Did he realize that he was only baiting Laurent further?  Perhaps he enjoyed flirting with danger.  Well, Laurent was not to be outdone.  He ordered the slave to strip, meant as both a humiliation for Damen as well as a test of his own courage.  Damen let his clothes fall, unabashedly, to the floor.  Then, at Laurent’s bidding, he began to removed the prince’s clothes.  Slowly, one piece at a time, Laurent’s skin was exposed.  No one other than his uncle had seen him like this.  He forced himself not to tremble.  This was the plan he’d chosen.

 

Damianos the Prince Killer didn’t fuck boys, but his reputation preceded him, and he was known to be drawn to blondes.  Laurent removed his undershirt last and stood before him naked, vulnerable.  For a moment, he felt as powerless as he had standing before his uncle all those years ago.  The size difference was almost the same.  He pushed the thought aside and forced his voice not to break when he ordered, ‘wash me.’

 

It started out impersonal enough.  The water splashed down on him, and Laurent pretended that the pleasantly warm water did not feel scalding hot against his skin.  A soft, soaped cloth pressed against his back and he forced himself not to shrink away from it.  Slowly, the pressure slid lower until it was against the small of his back.  It slid lower still.  Laurent forced himself not to move a single muscle, despite the ever rising panic.  He looked down and saw that Damen had grown hard, his cock distenting, lengthening and curving up from his body.  Laurent had no doubt that given the chance, it would break him.

 

“Don’t be presumptuous,” he bit out.  Damen’s hands stayed where they were, cupping Laurent’s ass intimately.

 

“Too late, sweetheart.”  What Laurant heard was,  _ good boy _ .  He raised his hand to strike the slave, rage suffusing him, only to have his hand caught.  Strong fingers gripped his wrist.  The fear beat a tattoo under his skin.  Against his will, he tried to jerk away.  He might as well have been pulling against iron.  Panic, true and absolute, held him immobile as Damen’s eyes raked over his naked form.  He was utterly helpless.  So complete was his terror that Laurent forgot the guards at the door, forgot his plan.  Damen could do anything he wanted, and it was obvious what he wanted.

 

Damen did nothing.  His gaze landed on Laurent’s cock, soft against his thigh, broadcasting his lack of interest.  Laurent couldn’t help but feel that it also broadcasted his fear.  At the sight of it, Damen’s erection flagged.  The heat fell away from his eyes.  Laurent felt his world shift again, and he could not stop himself from saying, “but my voice has broken.  That was your only prerequisite, wasn’t it?”  Damen wasn’t going to try and take him.  Laurent did not want it, and so Damen had no interest in forcing him, not to get his revenge, even though he was attracted to Laurent, even though Laurent was not a helpless child.  Laurent did not want it, and so Damen did not, either.  When he heard the implication of Laurent’s words, he released him immediately, as if the very thought was abhorrent to him.

 

For the first time in many years, Laurent thought he was going to cry.  Instead, he backhanded Damen across the mouth with all his considerable strength.  “Get him out of here,” he ordered.  Again, he was going to run away.   _ Coward _ .  He needed respite, needed to think, needed to calm his racing heart.   _ Coward.  _  He stopped.  Damen would not make him quell.  He embraced the adrenaline that had flooded him, turned it to coldness, and ordered his slave to the cross.

 

***

 

What followed was a blur.  It had been a fault of Laurent’s for a long time that he lost himself in the clutches of a rage.  It was perhaps his greatest weakness.  Once he fell to the anger, it needed to burn itself out.  He thought of his own confusion, of the resentment he felt that this man could make him question everything.  Then he pushed those thoughts aside.  No matter what he felt about himself, what doubts he had, there was one core truth that was unchanged.  Damianos had killed Auguste.  For that alone, he deserved the worst the cross had to offer.  As each lash fell, he thought of the sword strikes his brother had likely taken.  The pain he must have felt.  Had he been afraid, at the end?  Had Damen toyed with him, drawing out the fear, the knowledge that his death was coming?

 

From what Laurent knew of Damen, he thought not.  Damen would have seen that as beneath him.  Dishonorable.  He signalled the whipping to stop.

 

“I should have done this to you the day you arrived.  It’s exactly what you deserve.”   _ For murdering my brother _ .

 

“Why didn’t you?” Damen asked him.  Despite himself, Laurent was a little surprised that the slave could even speak.  His back was in tatters, the pain must have been unbearable.  And yet, Damen bore it.  Laurent’s estimation of him as an opponent grew.  “You are cold blooded and honorless.  What held back someone like you?”

 

And just like that, the anger which had burned itself away reignited.  Damen was right.  Laurent was cold blooded and honorless.  Just like his uncle.  A matched set.  He ordered the whipping to start up again.  Even when it was done, even when Damen was on the cusp of death, the anger was still there.  Damen wanted to be dealt with honorably?  Then he should have left alive the prince of Vere that  _ had _ honor.  Instead, Damen had slaughtered him.  It was his fault.  All his fault.

 

“Don’t let him die yet,” Laurent demanded.  Then he left.

 

***

 

Laurent kept himself in his rooms, mourning the death of his brother as if he had never really stopped.  This was only the beginning of what the Regent had planned.  He hadn’t expected Laurent to recognize Damen on sight, so he’d wanted the slave to get under his skin, possibly to bed him, and  _ then _ for him to realize who Damen was.  He wanted that pain brought to the fore, to have it lay Laurent low.

 

And lay him low it did.  It was only fortunate that it was happening while Damen was recovering and the Regent was away.  He had a week.  Seven days to let the grief swamp him and then be set aside.  To accept the truth about the man who was now his slave, and what that truth meant to him.

 

When the Regent called court and Laurent was ordered to attend, he was prepared.  He knew that his uncle had been to see Damen, that he’d brought council members with him as witness.  He sat, poised, as Damen was brought into the room wearing the full dress of a slave.  There was a kind of beauty to it, his dark skin gilt, his most sensual features accented by paint and jewels.  A chain extended across his chest, held in place by clamps on his nipples, puckering them to the sight of the room.  Laurent smirked, fully in control of himself. This was what his uncle wanted, so it was what he would get.

 

When he was called forward, Laurent went willingly, ready for battle.  The regent played his hand, eager as ever to throw Laurent’s refusal to go to the border in his face.  Laurent listened calmly as he was stripped of land and money, all except what legally could not be taken from him.  His uncle was trying to back him into a corner, but it would cost him.  Now, not a single movement Laurent took was not calculated.  When he was ordered to kiss the slave, he almost smiled.  The Regent had taught Laurent well.  Not only did he know what to expect from him, but he could use the same tools that had been used against him. 

 

He hooked his finger under the chain attached to Damen’s nipples and pulled him forward by it.  He slid his hand into Damen’s jewel adorned hair, tilting his head down so that Laurent’s lips would reach his cheek.  He did as he was bade and kissed the slave, the barest brush of skin on skin, the most he was capable of.  And while his lips were still close to Damen’s ear, he spoke.  “You look like a whore.  Filthy painted slut.  Did you spread for my uncle the way you did for Kastor?”

 

The words, inaudible to everyone but Damen, had the exact reaction he expected.  He’d reacted almost the same way when those words had been directed at himself.  The violence which he’d shown in his recoil shocked everyone in the room.  The smeared paint on his cheek stood out like an accusation.  When he spoke again, Laurent had the attention, and the sympathy, of every noble in the room.

 

He accepted the Regent’s punishment - now seen as unfair to the crowd - humbly.  The proceedings ended.  Laurent had won.  The triumph of success surged through him, followed by a wave of exhaustion.  He wanted to get away, to disappear for a while until his emotions were better under control, but there was one more performance to make before his show was done.  He led Damon by the flimsy gold chain through the chamber and out into the gardens.  There was barely a moment for him to compose himself, to breathe in the cool night air, before he was verbally sparring with his slave.  He broke the fragile chain just before Councillor Herode arrived, and the show began again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We pick up here at page 94 (US paperback) and go to 130, through the infamous garden scene with Ancel and to Laurent discovering how the slaves are being treated. No big plot points are skipped, but we are laying groundwork for the next chapter!

Laurent’s perfect groundwork was paying off.  Herode was on his side.  With little swaying, he could have two others on his side as well.  His uncle’s favorites would not be swayed except in the face of irrefutable evidence - which Laurent did not have - but if things came to a head the way he thought they might, he wouldn’t need the united support of the council.  Partial would do.

 

Relieved, he returned to where he’d left Damen, only to find him surrounded by nobles and slaves alike.  His patience was at an end, his temper frayed almost beyond repair.  When Ancel began throwing himself at Damen to try and gain the prince’s attention, he nearly snapped.  But to misstep now could mean the loss of Vannes support and that would be catastrophic.  Instead he listened to her advice.   _ Perhaps it is time the slave learned his place _ .  How fitting.  A display of strength and control in front of Vannes would not go amiss, and Laurent was tired of feeling as though Damen had come out the better for their sparring.  Despite his pouting demeanor, Ancel was no child, so the show would not hurt Damen’s delicate sensibilities.

 

The masters sat back while the slaves began.  Lashed tightly to the bench, Damen at first showed no signs of cooperation at all.  It was clear that his control over his body was astounding.  Laurent was reminded of what had happened in the bath.  He’d grown aroused looking at Laurent’s nudity, but when he saw that Laurent was uninterested, his body had quickly come to heel.  A small spark of something that felt dangerously like guilt flared, but Laurent smothered it.  Instead, he decided to use the fact that Damen was attracted to his body.  He crossed to sit at Damen’s side and began instructing Ancel how to pleasure him.  The moment Damen’s eyes strayed to Laurent, he was lost.  His breathing sped up, his pulse began to pound.  Laurent knew exactly what to do to drive him right to the edge.  He’d learned these lessons with the bite of terror as his guide.

 

Damen was close.  Laurent could see all the signs, could read Damen’s body easily.  Instead of looking away, as he’d expected, Damen kept his eyes on Laurent.  He stared him down, inscrutable, still somehow proud despite his humiliation.  “Finish him off,” Laurent ordered casually, walking away without looking back.  He heard the harsh breaths, the bitten off groan.  Then it was done.  Laurent barely paid attention to what was being said around him.  He felt very lost, and angry because of it.

 

It wasn’t until Nicaise came to the garden that he found some of his composure again.  He dismissed the others and called for refreshments, trying not to think too much about the internal struggle he’d had so recently about Nicaise.  He offered wine, wondering if the boy hated it the way Laurent did.  Had his uncle drugged Nicaise the same?  Or perhaps, as a pet, Nicaise hadn’t needed the same… persuading that Laurent had.  Nicaise proudly declared his age and insisted that he could drink wine, so Laurent doubted he had been drugged as much.

 

“Have you thought about what you’ll do, after?” he asked casually.  He reminded Nicaise that the Regent’s attention would only remain on him for another year at best, which caused the boy to turn scarlet.  Perhaps his body had already begun to go through its change.  If so, his time was shorter still.  “I’ll offer for you, if you like.  When the time comes.  I wouldn’t want you in my bed, but you’d have all the same privileges.  You might prefer that.  I’d offer.”  It was as close as Laurent had ever come to saying he would help Nicaise.  In all the time they had spent together, wordless, hidden, this had never been mentioned.  Until that exact moment, Laurent had never even thought to say it.  The idea of having his uncle’s discarded whore serving him should have repulsed him.  It didn’t.  Perhaps it was the guilt of his recent moral quandary.  Perhaps it was having been shown to be less honorable than a killer.  Perhaps he simply wanted just one of the boys his uncle used and threw away to have some kind of happiness.

 

Nicaise stared at him and for one brief moment, Laurent caught a flash of the boy he’d been when he’d first come to the palace.  Innocent, frightened, searching desperately for a friend.  Then it was gone, and Nicaise was sneering at him, reminding him that he had no money to offer with.   “I don’t need you.  He’s promised. He’s not going to give me up.”

 

“He gives them all up.  Even if you’re more enterprising than the others have been.”  It was true.  Laurent was the one who’d held his attention the longest.  All the others had been replaced at the earliest turn of youth.  The Regent had made that hollow promise to the others.  He had always broken it without care.

 

“He likes me better than the others.”  Nicaise laughed, the sound forced and brittle.  He seemed on the edge of hysteria.  Perhaps Laurent had pushed him too far.  He would let the subject drop, would try to-  “You’re jealous.”

 

If a flower petal had dropped to the grass in the garden, the sound of it would have been deafening in the otherwise absolute silence.  There it was, laid out as it had never been before.  Nicaise knew.  He knew, and he’d accused Laurent of being jealous.  In a heartbeat, he realized the magnitude of his error.  He’d overstepped, crossed the lines of the delicate treaty between them.  It was an ugly thing to say, and Laurent’s horror at just the thought must have shown on his face for Nicaise to react so strongly to it.  Suddenly, he paled.  “You’re going to tell him you want me.”

 

In spite of the slap he’d just received, Laurent drew back in shock at the very suggestion.  If he told his uncle that he wanted Nicaise, it would cosign him to torment at best and be his death warrant at worst.  If the Regent thought, even for a moment, that Laurent would bed Nicaise, then he would take great pleasure in meticulously, methodically destroying every physical thing about him that Laurant might use.  Then he would happily send the ruined husk to Laurent with his blessing.  Worse, if he thought it was out of sympathy, or because Laurent cared for the boy, then the Regent would gladly slaughter Nicaise just to hurt Laurent.  “Oh, No.  Nicaise...no.   That would wreck you.  I wouldn’t do that.”  Was he really so cold that Nicaise thought him capable of that kind of betrayal?  It hurt him, more than he cared to admit.  

 

Instead of trying to explain further, he reassured Nicaise and took him from the garden, leaving Damen behind.  In the end, perhaps it was better that Nicaise think the worst of him.  If things did not go his way, he would make a terrible enemy in the Regent if he dared defend Laurent.

 

Keeping that in mind, he encouraged the pet to stay while his uncle verbally flayed Laurent for his insolence in front of the council earlier.  Laurent was too tired to argue.  He did not care what his uncle had to say, and there were as yet no threats he could carry out.  He listened the way one listens to a small dog yapping uselessly.  When it was over, Nicaise took his position at the Regent’s side smugly, staying behind as Laurent was dismissed.  If Laurent didn’t know otherwise, he would think that smug smile was a true show of catty superiority.  Instead, Laurent could easily see it for what it was.  Bravado.  As soon as the doors were closed, the Regent was going to do to Nicaise all the things he could no longer do to Laurent in punishment.  It would be a long night for the boy.

 

Laurent collapsed into bed exhausted, but still thought to set out a numbing salve, just in case he had a visitor in the night.

 

***

 

The next two days were so full of activity and preparation for events to come that Laurent barely had time to think of Damen or Nicaise.  His rooms were being moved in accordance with his recent cut of funds, a smaller section of them closer to the center of the palace.  He hadn’t even had time to think of a way to casually let Nicaise know where his new rooms were, and relied instead on the boy’s ingenuity to figure it out on his own.

 

The ambassador from Patras arrived, and Laurent immediately began to slowly woo the man.  It was absolutely vital that he be in Laurent’s side in the coming months.  It seemed as though it was going to be pitifully easy.  Torveld was a good man, interested more in peace than in money or power.  He obviously had a strong sense of justice, and if he was to be made aware of certain facts at the right moment, the alliance Laurent needed would be assured.  All he needed was an opening, something of value that could quietly and innocently change hands that could tip the scales in his favor.

 

He was sitting before the fire pondering what he could use when a guard came to inform  him that his slave had requested his presence.  He could have waited; it was bad to set a precedent of going promptly when summoned by a slave, but Laurent found himself intrigued by what Damen could possibly want.  He finished his drink and made his way to the slave quarters, ignoring the slight pinch of unease at being reminded how close they now slept.

 

As soon as he entered the room, Damen fell to his knees, then pressed his forehead to the floor in a show of submission.  Laurent was so stunned that he could only stare.  He found himself intensely grateful that Damen’s eyes were on the floor, or he would have witnessed Laurent’s flash of emotion.  He scolded himself for such a lapse.

 

“This is new,” he said, trying to sound bored.  Damen didn’t move to raise his head.

 

“There’s something I want.”

 

“Something you want.”  Of course there had been some kind of angle.  Laurent would have been more surprised - and suspicious - if there wasn’t.  But for it to be stated so openly, so plainly, with no games or guessing, took him off guard. 

 

  
“You get something in return.”

 

Laurent fought the urge to scoff.  The barbarian was trying his hand at something Laurent was master of.  There was no way Damen would come out the better of this.  “Are you misguided enough to try and bargain with me?  What could you possibly offer that I would want?”

 

“Obedience.”

 

It was said so plainly, so simply, that Laurent struggled for a moment to comprehend his meaning.  In absence of an immediate answer, Damen went on to enumerate the extent to which he would submit.  It was obviously an ill guided attempt to escape.  What else could be worth the pride of the prince?  He made his position - and rejection of Damen’s ridiculous offer - clear, then turned to leave.  Damen’s head came up, and there was impatience stamped across his features.  For a moment, Laurent thought he was going to be cursed at.  Instead, he was again shocked.

 

“I don’t think the slaves in your uncle’s care are being treated well.  Do something about it and the bargain is made.”

 

Why did it feel, any time he and Damen faced off, as though Laurent was standing on ground that continually shifted beneath his feet?  He’d learned much about the Akielos prince’s sense of honor and justice, but this was too much to be believed.  He scoffed.  “The slaves?  Am I supposed to believe that you care for their welfare?”  The idea was ridiculous.  He said as much, including his scorn of Akielos traditions of slavery, and prepared to leave.  He planned to continue on his way out, no matter what Damen said to try and convince him otherwise, but was again stopped.  The story he told, of the slaves being ‘tested’ with branding, sounded very much like something his uncle would watch.  He would have taken sick pleasure in it, laughed at their pain.

 

“To abuse someone who cannot resist - isn’t that monstrous?”  The words, so emphatically spoken, struck Laurent to the core.  There was no way for Damen to know how much that sentiment would impact Laurent.  None.  And yet it wasn’t possible for the man to truly be this self sacrificing.  No one was this good, this pure.  “Please.  They’re not like me.  They’re not soldiers.  They haven’t killed anyone.  They’re innocent.  They will serve you willingly.  And so will I, if you do something to help them.”

 

He pushed every button perfectly.  Despite the good he knew to be inside Damen, Laurent could excuse his treatment of the Prince because of what he’d done to Auguste.  That wasn’t the case with the slaves.  There was no excuse for their torment.  Laurent struggled to think, trying to see what Damen could be trying to win from this.  “You overestimate my influence  over my uncle.”  Damen started to speak again, but Laurent cut him off.  “No, I-” he stopped, still uncomprehending.  He felt strangely exposed.  “You would really sacrifice your pride over a handful of slaves?  Why?”  The word came out strangled and raw, the most unguarded thing Laurent had in years.

 

Damen didn’t seem to notice.  “Because I am stuck here in this cage and have no other way to help them!”  Anger and frustration rang in his tone, an underlying helplessness catching at Laurent and tugging uncomfortably.  Was it possible, truly possible, that Damen really was so self sacrificing?  That he cared so deeply for his people, even slaves, that he would rather submit himself to danger than they?  Were there really such people in the world?

 

Laurent wondered what Auguste would have done.

 

The very thought made his heart clench tightly.  Damen was not half the man Auguste had been.  He was a killer, a barbarian, perhaps with a small measure of honor, but his nobility did not extend this far.  It could not.  Laurent turned and questioned Radel, then had him summon the guard from the garden.

 

They waited for the guard, Damen trying to convince Laurent all the while that this wasn’t a trick.  When he veered too far into insolence, Laurent reminded him of his place and took pleasure in seeing Damen grudgingly apologize.  The guard finally arrived, and Laurent fully expected the ploy to be exposed.  Damen was not a strategist the way Laurent and his uncle were.  His machinations would be easy to see through.  He was not surprised to hear that Govart had been in the gardens that night.  His uncle’s thug.  Of course.  No, he was not shocked.  He was… disappointed.  It made him all the angrier.  He turned to leave.

 

Damen stood to his full height, the only thing restraining him the shackle at his wrists.  Even with his hands behind his back, he was imposing.  He seemed powerful enough to simply yank the chain from the floor and attack them all.  The guard who had been advancing on him stopped.  When Damen insulted Laurent by comparing him to Govart - which mattered very little to Laurent, it was so far from the truth - the guard found his courage again and drew his sword.  Damen looked at him as though he was no more than a bumblebee that had flashed its tiny stinger.  His anger turned to the guard, accusing him of allowing it to happen.

 

“What was he doing?” Laurent asked the guard, wondering just how much more of this would unfold.  The guard shrugged.

 

“Raping one of the slaves.”

 

It was only years of practice that kept Laurent from flinching.  Govart had molested one of Damen’s subjects in front of him.  Perhaps that truly was enough to make a man like him offer this kind of bargain truthfully.  The idea made Laurent uncomfortable.  He tried to brush it off.  Claim he did not care what Govart did to the slaves.  Taunted Damen.  Then, when Damen called his bluff about still not believing him, Laurent ordered the guards from the room and rounded on Damen again, anger flashing in his eyes.

 

He had never felt so much like his uncle when he threatened to kill the slaves just to make Damen suffer.  He had total control of the man and he knew it.  He flaunted it.  He made it look as though he reveled in it, all the while his self loathing grew.  Then he left Damen with nothing but uncertainty over the future of his people.  


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts with a scene that we don't see in the books but would happen right after Laurent leaves Damen on page 130 and goes through to the hunt on page 176. The main events not seen are the feast, Erasmus' show, and more politics.
> 
> I also want to note that there is fairly graphic violence in this chapter, and an animal in mortal distress. It was difficult to write and will likely be difficult to read. Just a heads up.

Instead of returning to his rooms, as he would have liked, Laurent turned towards the slave quarters.  He needed desperately to decompress, to think through the events of the day, but first he would speak to the slave himself.  He no longer doubted Damen’s account of what had happened, but if the plan slowly unfolding in his mind was to succeed, he should warn the slave of what was to come.

 

He was met at the door by his uncle’s appointed slave keeper, and admitted without comment.  It was highly unusual for him to seek out slaves, or even pets, but as crown prince, nothing was denied him.  The Akielos slaves were easy to spot, separated from the rest, huddled together as if for protection, or comfort.  With a few words of Akielos, the slave in question stepped forward, then immediately prostrated himself again at the prince’s feet.  Laurent bid him to rise and follow.  Erasmus, as he said he was called, obeyed at once.

 

They settled in a small, private room, chosen by Laurent because it had no fireplace.  He hoped that would provide some small comfort to the slave, but his body still trembled with fear.  He had no reason to expect anything else from Laurent.  From the moment of his arrival in Vere - and indeed, even along the way - he had suffered nothing but pain and torment.

 

“My name is Laurent,” he said gently.

 

“Yes, Exhaulted.  I- I mean, Your Majesty!”  His face flushed and he fell to the floor, horrified at the cultural slip.  “This slave begs your forgiveness, Majesty!”

 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Erasmus.  You have committed no wrong.  Please rise.”  He held out his hand to assist, and the slave flinched from it, then dutifully took Laurent’s hand.  “I am not going to hurt you.  I know you have no reason to trust that, but I swear that it is true.  I want to ask you some questions, and I would like you to answer them as honestly as you can, even if you feel that I won’t like the answers.  Do you think you can do that?”

 

“Y-yes, Majesty.”  He sat slowly, eyes still wary.

 

“Last night, you were with a pet named Nicaise who came searching for me, yes?”  Erasmus nodded.  “He brought you in the garden to another slave.  A slave also from Akielos.”  For a moment, Erasmus’ eyes softened.  Whatever had happened between them had obviously had an effect on the slave.  “Will you tell me what you spoke of, after Nicaise and I left?”

 

“Th-this slave said that his master, that your Majesty, was kind.”

 

Laurent could not hide his smirk, and it made the slave nervous.  “I’m sure he doubted you.”  Erasmus said nothing, not certain how to answer without angering Laurent.  “What else?” he prompted softly.

 

“He… he was kind to me.  Praised me.  Asked about my life before being given to the Regent.  And about my treatment after.  That-” he stopped, eyes resolutely on the floor, then found the courage to go on.  Laurent was impressed with the boy.  “That was when he saw my scars.  He was… upset.   When he asked, I told him of how I had been given them and what had happened since leaving Akielos.  Then, he promised to find a way to help me.  I knew it was impossible but-”

 

Here, he stopped, unable to go on.  “But you wanted to believe him,” Laurent finished for him.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is that all that happened?” Laurent asked, knowing that though this part of the story had likely been difficult for Erasmus to tell, the rest would be even harder.  The slave shook his head.  “Go on,” he urged softly.

 

“A man came looking for me.  He spoke to the other slave, but I could not understand what they said.  He lifted me by my collar, and I was unable to keep from making noise, so he punished me-”

 

“Punished you?”

 

“As this slave deserved,” Erasmus added quickly.  Laurent shook his head.

 

“I mean, how did he punish you?”

 

“He slapped me.  The other slave, he tried to interfere, but he was chained.  Then, the man…”  Erasmus struggled to find the words.

 

“He took liberties?”

 

“Yes,” Erasmus let out a soft sigh of gratitude at the delicate phrasing.  “I did not struggle, but something the man said angered the slave.  He tried again to interfere.  I thought… I thought the iron holding him was going to break.  The noise drew the guard.  I do not know what they said, but the man left, and took me with him.”

 

There was such a long pause that Laurent realized the slave had no intention of saying more.  “What happened next?”

 

“This slave lives to serve.”  His face was red, hands trembling.  Laurent could guess the rest.

 

“He had you  _ serve _ him?”

 

“Yes, Majesty.”

 

The story was just as Damen had told it.  He was no longer surprised by that.  What he felt instead was anger.  For once, it was not directed at Damen, or even himself.  It was directed at his uncle, the Veretian nobility, and Govart.  Despite his personal views on slavery, he could see that his country had failed these slaves.  It had taken something they considered sacred and made a mockery of it.  It was, as Damen had said, monstrous.  

 

“Erasmus, before you were-”  Laurent floundered for a moment, unused to trying to speak in euphemisms and caution.  “Before,” he finally settled on, hoping the slave would understand his meaning, “were you… was your body ... prepared?”

 

The slave flushed red again and slowly shook his head no.  Laurent felt a surge of sympathy.  He let out a breath and laid his hands gently on Erasmus’.  The slave looked up at him in shock.  “I am going to have the physician sent to you and the others that have been harmed.  He will see that your injuries are tended.  You will be cared for.”

 

“Thank you, Majesty.”  He bowed his head as low as he could without dislodging Laurent’s hands.  “This slave does not deserve your consideration.”

 

“You have it nonetheless.  And there is one more thing.  Tomorrow, the pet who left you in the gardens, Nicaise, will fetch you again.  He is going to make you perform before the court.  It will be terrible for you.  But if you are very brave, something good will come at the end of it.”  He rose and began ushering Erasmus back to the slave rooms, already thinking of rousing the physician and suggesting what medicines he would need to bring.  At the door, he paused.  He didn’t know why he said it.  It was unimportant, and it meant nothing to the slave.  He wouldn’t understand.  “You do not know it yet, but that slave kept his promise to you.”  Then, he turned and left.

 

***

 

The next day went better than Laurent could have hoped.  Every piece fell into place with ease, from his subtle flirtation with Torveld, to Nicaise’s blunder, to the transference of Erasmus to Torveld’s care.  By the following morning, he was both elated by his successes and expectant of something to go horribly wrong.  The Regent would not let such a win go unanswered, even if he did not understand why the events were such a win to Laurent yet.  Laurent wondered what his uncle’s counter-play would be.  Strip him of more power, deny him a place in court, humiliate him before the council?

 

He was on guard when the hunt began, ignoring Damen in favor of calming his horse.  She skittered sideways when he urged her forward, danced when he pulled her to a stop.  It was unusual to say the least.  When Auguste had given her to Laurent eight years ago, she had been totally docile, eager to please.  Just yesterday, she had been as gentle and obedient as that first day.

 

As soon as they started riding out, she began to sweat, and foam appeared around her bit.  It wasn’t until the boar was spotted and the hunt took its most dangerous turn that Laurent realized the awful truth.  She had been poisoned.  A glance toward the Regent showed his uncle’s steely grey eyes focused on the stumbling horse.  The boar turned towards them, maddened with bloodlust.  Laurent’s horse sidled wildly and her back hoof caught a root.  There was a sickening pop as her back leg collapsed, her ankle shattered.  Shocked to his very core, Laurent again looked at his uncle.  The Regent smiled maliciously.

 

Time seemed to slow.  There were so many things going on around him, his horse trying to keep upright, the boar bearing down on them, hunters and dogs twining around each other in chaos, but Laurent saw none of that.  He only saw his uncle’s smile.  The man who’d comforted him after his father and brother’s deaths.  The man who was his only family.  The man who, despite all the terrible things he’d done, Laurent still thought something of.  He was trying to have Laurent killed.  After everything, he wanted to see his nephew dead.  And just like that, Laurent’s future changed.  He was no longer playing for revenge or his position.  He was playing for his life.

 

The world rushed back into focus around him.  He dug his spurs hard enough into the horse’s flank to draw blood, forcing himself to ignore her shriek of pain.  She jolted forward, broken bones crunching sickeningly.  The boar was almost upon them.  Another brutal kick of his spurs had her leaping over the beast, just barely clearing razor sharp tusks.  She tried to go down as she landed, but Laurent could not let her.  The boar would circle back any moment, and he could not be caught on the ground.  Again he urged her up, forced her forward, tears filling his eyes as he listened to her screaming in protest, praying anyone who noticed would think it was the wind making his eyes water.  They shot towards the boar, and with all of his strength, Laurent thrust his spear.  

 

His aim was true.  It pierced the boar’s heart.  As soon as it dropped, he released the spear so that his horse could continue her momentum forward.  She staggered.  Laurent leapt off of her, foolishly wanted to catch her as she collapsed.  She fell in the dry leaves of the underbrush, whinnying in pain, her flanks heaving and legs trembling in agony.  “Where are the dogsmen?” he demanded without taking his eyes off of her.  If his voice had been shaky, if it had broken slightly, or sounded almost hysterical, anyone would have attributed it to exertion or the close call he’d just had.  Only one man in the group knew exactly what he was feeling.

 

A foot-huntsman stepped forward.  His eyes widened as he took in the state of the horse.  “Saint’s mercy,” he swore.

 

“Put her down.”  Laurent said the words flatly, back in control of his voice.  The huntsman paused, still taken aback at the state of the horse.

 

“But sire-”

  
“Are you deaf?” Laurent snapped at him.  “Or perhaps a brute that takes sick pleasure in the suffering of animals?  You have your sword.  Put it in her or I will take it from you and put it in  _ you! _ ”  The huntsman flinched, blanched, then drew his sword and thrust it into the neck of the horse.  Her whinny gurgled, then went silent.  Laurent stared impassively at the last gift his brother had ever given him, dead at his feet.  When he looked up, he saw grey eyes on him.  He felt the blood in his veins turn to ice.  Yes, the game had turned to murder, but Laurent reminded himself that it was still about revenge.  And he would have his.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chap picks up at page 176 after the hunt and continues on to the end of Captive Prince. most of the events are covered, but there is a small time skip at the double line of asterisks from where Laurent talks to Damen just after the Regent leaves, telling him that Damen is to stay locked up while he is gone, to the next conversation they have a few days later (starting on page 224) where Damen convinces Laurent that they should go to Delfeur. Enjoy!

That night, Laurent ordered a small group of soldiers and servants into the woods with instructions to bury his horse.  The leader seemed confused, but Laurent snapped at him, and the little group fell  into line.  When they returned, Laurent locked himself in his room and sat in a chair before the fire.  There were no tears in his eyes.  Frigid.  That’s what everyone called him.  They had no idea how right they were.

 

The emissaries from Patras left the next day.  Laurent saw them off, noting with some satisfaction the way Erasmus stood tall beside Torveld.  The other slaves seemed in much better spirits as well, with the slave handler keeping a close watch on them.  Some good had come from provoking his uncle.  He reminded himself of that when grief again pricked his heart.   _ It’s just a horse _ , he’d said to Damen.  The words had cut, but he’d taken savage satisfaction in the ones that followed,  _ I’ll have my uncle buy me a new one _ .  The price would come out of his flesh and bone, and he would suffer as much as the horse had.

 

The day after the departure was a quiet one in the palace.  The servants were putting the guest quarters back to rights, things were getting back to their usual routines.  Laurent wrote letters.  He looked at a map of Vere and tried to study it like a chess board.  The Regent was out for blood, and he was already thinking ten steps ahead.  Laurent would need to be even further ahead than that.  He could think like his uncle, could anticipate and parry, but that would only take him so far.  He needed a wild card.  Something that could give him an advantage his uncle wouldn't count on.

 

He thought of his guard, their ranks loyal, members talented, but numbers small.  He thought of Nicaise, smart and cunning but still caught in the Regent’s thrall.  He thought of the alliances he’d made, the councilors he’d swayed.  None of it would be enough.  Already, he anticipated another attempt on his life, but he could not see how to forestall it.

 

A headache began to form between his eyes and he dropped onto the reclining couch.  His eyes strayed to the books on the table before him, but he shook his head and drank deeply of his water goblet instead.  His answers would not be found in scrolls or any knowledge to be learned from philosophers.  He would need to be inside his uncle’s mind for any chance of success.  Or he would need to be very, very lucky.  Laurent did not like to leave anything to luck.

 

Anticipation coiled in his belly, making him feel sick with it.  He wondered, for a moment, if he might not be contracting some illness because of how shaky his limbs felt, how sluggish his thoughts, but he dismissed the idea.  He was just over-tired.  In the morning, his head would be clear again.  He let his weight fall to the side and tucked his feet under him, trying to push aside the feeling that he was thirteen again.  Perhaps he would read the book after all.  He was so unsettled, strangely taut like an over stretched harp string waiting to be plucked-

 

The door to his room swung open.  Startled, he tried to jerk his gaze up only to find that his lids stayed at half mast.  His eyes struggled to focus, and when they did, he found Damen standing before him, totally unshackled.  Three unfamiliar guards stood beside him.  Laurent’s heart rate rose, and he noticed there was blood pooling in his groin.

 

Then, he knew what had happened.  His eyes wanted to stray to the water goblet but he daren’t take them off the men facing him.  Slowly, he stood, taking stock of how much his body protested, how stiff his limbs had become.  “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked as he moved to the best position in the room.  There was only one factor that he could not calculate, and it would be the one that decided his fate.  If Damen sided with the assassins, Laurent was dead.  If he did not- well, then there was a chance, slim but there, that he could walk away from this.

 

“I don’t think the prince is in an amorous mood,” Damen said carefully.  It told Laurent none of his intentions.

 

“I take a while to warm up.”  The words were unnecessary, nonsensical, but he was still trying to see what would happen, still trying to fight the fog filling his mind with only one thought,  _ completion _ .  There was a pregnant pause.  Laurent felt it stretch, had the time to force his mind and body to heel.  He remembered how this drug felt, remembered with startling clarity what had happened to him last time he’d been given it.  For one terror induced hysterical instant he wondered if they would pass him around like the tavern slut or if only Damen was meant to rape him.

 

The room exploded into action.  Two of the men started for him, the third stayed by Damen.  There was hardly even a hesitation before Damen attacked him.  One of the men coming after Laurent turned back.  He swung his sword, and Damen crashed into him.  Laurent didn’t see what happened next because suddenly the first man was on him.  He feigned right and then struck from the left, forcing his body to obey him in spite of the drug streaking through his blood.  He kicked out, knocking the man over a small table and sending it splintering to the floor.  From across the room, one of the men hissed, ‘he’s the prince’s bitch, kill him!’  Laurent had no time to appreciate the irony of that statement.  The man before him staggered up again and Laurent knocked him down again, then slammed his heel against the back of the man’s neck hard enough to hear it snap.  Two steps had him at the first dead guard’s body, retrieving his knife.

 

When he returned to the center of the room, Damen was holding the second man still, one hand in his hair and the other keeping his arm bent behind his back.  “What do you want me to do with him?” Damen asked.

 

“Hold him still,” Laurent ordered.  Then in one smooth move, he slit the man’s throat.  Damen dropped him as though burned.  The assassin gasped, gurgled, then toppled forward.  Damen and Laurent’s eyes met.  This was the Prince Killer’s chance to live up to his name.  Damen shifted forward, Laurent automatically changed his grip on the knife, expecting to have to defend himself.  An instant later, Damen’s body collided with his.  Strong fingers gripped his wrist.  Laurent thought of the way Damen had held him similarly in the bath.  Was it cosmic irony that he was facing the same fear now that he had been then?  Damen tried to twist his hand so the knife dropped, but Laurent resisted.  If he lost the weapon and Damen turned on him, there would be no second chances.  Damen was bigger than him, stronger, and just as well trained.  With the drug still pounding in his veins, there wouldn’t be anything he could do.

 

“Let go of my arm,” Laurent ordered softly.  The longer Damen stayed pressed against him, the more Laurent’s body betrayed him, and the higher his panic rose.

 

“Drop the knife,” Damen returned.  Was that it, then?  Had he made his decision?

 

“If you do not let go of my arm, it will not go easily for you.”  It was a struggle of herculean proportions not to let his voice shake with fear.  He felt powerless, stripped of his dignity as his unwillingly erect cock pressed against the waistband of his sleep pants and his body screamed at him to submit to the coming attack, to beg to be invaded, anything-

 

One more twist of his arm and the knife clattered to the ground.  Damen instantly let him go and stepped back.  Fighting every urge of his body, Laurent stepped back as well.  Damen hadn’t lunged at him, hadn’t knocked him to the ground.  That was a start.  Still, it was a far cry from safety.

 

“You seem to vacillate between assistance and assault.  Which is it?”  His mind was too hazy to try and read Damen’s intentions.

 

“I’m not surprised you’ve driven three men to try and kill you, I’m only surprised there weren’t more.”

 

“There were.  More.”  Laurent watched him carefully.  Color rose to Damen’s cheeks.

 

“I didn’t volunteer.  I was brought here.  I don’t know why.”

 

Could he really be so simple-minded?  Did he not see why the Regent would assume he would take the opportunity to cut down the man who had tormented him?  “To cooperate,” he clarified.

 

“Cooperate?  You were unarmed.”  The simple disgust in that statement reminded Laurent again the type of man he was facing.  Some of his fear began to ease.  He was going to speak, but Damen went on.  “Like the man you just killed.”

 

“In my part of the fight, the men were not helpfully killing each other.”  It seemed an easier explanation than the truth, which was that if any of the assassins had lived, there would be war.  Whatever Damen had been about to say next died on his lips as the Regent’s men entered the room and surrounded them.  Laurent realized that Damen had automatically fallen into a fighting stance by his side.  He didn’t know what to make of that.

 

In short order, the soldiers had restrained Damen and were planning to leave with him.  Laurent couldn’t let that happen.  Not only would it play into his uncle’s plans, but now Laurent owed the man a debt.  He’d saved Laurent’s life.

 

After everything, he’d saved Laurent’s life.

 

With his tongue sharp as ever, he ordered Damen released, had the men set to removing the bodies from his room, and had arranged for the privacy he so desperately needed.  He’d collapsed against the wall as they worked, trying to make the movement seem like a casual lean instead of alerting anyone in the room to the fact that he could barely stand.  Then, it was Damen and Laurent alone in the room once more.

 

Laurent watched him warily, reminding himself that everything he knew of the man before him said he would not take advantage.  Still, that was no guarantee, and this was not something Laurent wanted to gamble with.

 

“You’re wounded.”  Damen looked like he wanted to step forward and search out the wound, but Laurent’s gaze kept him pinned in place.

 

“No,” Laurent said tersely.  “If you mean excluding your attempt to break my arm.”

 

Damen did mean so.  He finally took a step forward, then stopped again at whatever he’d seen flash in Laurent’s eyes.  “I would prefer you to stand further away.”  He would prefer if Damen’s movement forward hadn’t made his heart nearly burst with terror.  He would prefer if his erection wasn’t throbbing painfully, slowly stealing his reason.

 

“Not wounded.  Poisoned.”  Damen had finally seen the goblet.

 

“You can restrain your delight.  I am not going to die from it,” Laurent said flatly.  He wondered how long it would take Damen to figure out exactly what he’d been drugged with.  And what would happen when he did.  As if reading his thoughts, Damen lifted the goblet and inspected it.

 

“It’s an Akielon drug.  It’s given to pleasure slaves, during training.  It makes them-”

 

“I am aware of the effects of the drug,” Laurent cut him off icily.  He did not need the symptoms his body was currently suffering listed off.  There was a strange pause, and then something stole over Damen’s face that Laurent hadn’t seen before.  It was something close to glee.

 

“It wears off.”  He paused, barely suppressing a smile.  “After a few hours.”  There was another pause. Laurent had no intention of engaging him, not when he was like this.  Not when Laurent was so utterly vulnerable and Damen seemed so volatile.  “Think I’m going to take advantage?”  He took a step forward, and Laurent felt his stomach churn.  Rational thought abandoned him.  “I am.”  Terror took hold.  Already, his body was going boneless, readying for what was to come.  “It was good of you to clear your apartments.”  The world threatened to swirl away, and Laurent was inclined to let it.  He did not want to be awake for this.  He did not want to face the brutal lust of the man he’d thought had saved him.  “I thought I’d never have the chance to get out of here.”  Damen took another step, this one slightly to the side.

 

Laurent realized he was not advancing, but going towards the door.  He’d read it all wrong.  Damen had no intention of taking advantage of him, only of the situation.  He was going to try and escape while there were no guards to stop him.  Laurent’s relief was so palpable that he almost didn’t realize that letting Damen leave now would be a virtual death sentence.  By now, the Regent’s guard would be everywhere.  If the slave involved in the altercation fled, there would be no chance to try and foil the Regent’s plan.  Damen would be judged guilty on the spot and killed.  Waylaid by the drug, Laurent wouldn’t be there to stop it.

 

In that moment, the man before him wasn’t Damianos the Prince Killer.  He was the unexpected savior of Laurent’s life.  Laurent found himself calling out, stopping Damen.  Trying to explain.  “I can’t… protect you, as I am now.”  Even to his own ears, it sounded ridiculous.

 

“Protect me,” Damen repeated, incredulous.

 

“I am aware you saved my life.”  When the admission didn’t have any effect, Laurent tried again.  “I dislike feeling indebted to you.  Trust that, if you don’t trust me.”

 

Even before Damen spoke, Laurent could see it was a lost cause.  Damen would not miss his chance to escape, especially on the word of the man who’d kept him captive.  Laurent could not physically stop him.  He wondered, briefly, if stripping off his clothes and begging for Damen’s cock like a bitch in heat would give him cause to stay.  Laurent laughed, realizing just how lost he was to the drug.  “Go, then.”  Damen paused, looking back at him for a moment, then turned and left.  

 

As soon as the door was closed, Laurent collapsed.  His back slid down the wall until he hit the floor, uncaring of dignity or grace.  Now that he was alone, the death-grip he’d had on his control slipped.  He felt a flush spread across his entire body.  He ached.  The need was so acute that he thought he would go mad from it.  A small whimper escaped his throat.  The sound was pitiful and weak.  It was exactly how he felt.

 

For the first time in his life, Laurent considered taking himself in hand.  The very idea had always seemed repugnant.  Everything involving sex disgusted him.  He had no sexual desires beyond his body’s occasional natural inclinations, and those he suppressed with an iron will.  But this desperation… he was helpless in the face of it.  He just needed to relieve a little of the pressure, needed to clear his head enough to plan.  He would need to wake the council members if he stood any chance of saving Damen-  When he looked down, he saw his hand had slid inside his pants and was so close to his cock that he could feel the heat of it.  Slowly, against his will, he closed the distance.  His long fingers wrapped around himself and gripped.

 

He thought of his uncle’s hand on him this way and his stomach heaved.  When he shook his head to clear it, another thought replaced that one.  Not Uncle’s hand, but Damen’s.  It was almost as abhorrent.  Damen had killed his brother.  Damen had taken away the only thing standing between Laurent and his uncle.

 

Damen had saved his life.  Damen had refused to rape a child, even at risk to himself.  Damen had looked at him in the bath, had grown aroused while he had Laurent alone, but had stopped because Laurent hadn’t wanted it.  Damen had sacrificed his pride the the sake of a few slaves.  Damen had fought by his side, protecting him.  Damen had known Laurent was helpless to a pleasure drug and hadn’t thought to use that for sexual gratification or even revenge.  

 

Laurent’s hand was sliding over himself now, stroking instinctively.  He thought of how Damen had looked after the match with Govart, glistening and triumphant with success.  Of the gentleness with which he’d treated Erasmus.  Laurent thought of Damen’s seeming boundless strength, restrained to tenderness, used not with violence but with-

 

He cried out as his body pulsed and the nightshirt he wore was suddenly streaked with white.  There was barely a pause before his stomach clenched, heaved, and he vomited on the floor.  He clawed desperately at the shirt, ripping it off and tossing it away in revulsion.  On shaking hands, Laurent crawled away from the mess and then curled up in a ball on the floor.  He would allow himself a moment to be weak.  To hate himself, hate the world around him.  The tears fell unchecked.  Just a moment, that was all he could have.  Then, there was work to be done.

 

***

 

The drug still lingered in his system as he sent servants to rouse the council.  Herode arrived first, and after the discussion they’d had so recently, it took little persuasion to get him to give the guard his medallion and send them after Damen.  Herode’s support wouldn’t last long, but it would be enough to keep Damen from being executed on sight.

 

As the other councillors arrived, Laurent let the coming discussion play out in his mind.  He foresaw the moves his uncle would make, what he would do to counter them, how he would be boxed neatly into a corner.  He allowed himself to be bitter that Damen’s refusal to trust him had forced his hand this way.  He’d needed more time before things got this far, hadn’t made all the preparations he’d wanted yet-  But he could not blame Damen for running.  Was there anyone in this world that Laurent would be willing to trust?

 

The group was gathered, and the battle between uncle and nephew commenced, the council standing as unwitting spectators ready to side with whoever drew the most blood.

 

By the time Damen arrived, it was nearly finished.  The Regent saw, after two foiled attempts, his chance to finally be rid of the prince.  He moved in for the kill.  There was nothing Laurent could do to prevent it.  Revealing the truth behind the attacks would result in war.  Refusing to go to Delfeur would strip him of all support from the council.  Trying to drag the negotiations any longer would cost Damen his life.  The pieces moved across the chessboard.  Laurent’s fell.  Check.

 

“Come,” the Regent extended his hand, eyes glittering with dark satisfaction.  Laurent knew what he wanted.  He would not give it to him.  Instead, he dropped a single knee and bowed his head.  Denied, but still gloating, the Regent presented a ring on his hand.  “Kiss it.”  Bile rose in Laurent’s throat, but he lowered his lips to the ring and pressed them, briefly, to the stone.  It was not a boot.  It was not a cock.  He could survive this.  His breath came in slow, even draws that were hard earned.  The hand rose, then stroked through Laurent’s hair.  He froze.  If he moved even a muscle, he would reach for his uncle’s throat.  The horrific touch continued, lingering as soft, slow words were spoken.  The last of them rang in his ears over and over again.   _ You were such a lovely boy _ .

 

He felt as though his shame was on display for the entire room to see.  As if they could tell how low Laurent had been brought back then, what unspeakable things had been done to him.  What he had submitted to.  Then the Regent pulled his hand away and reality came rushing back.  No one knew.  No one could ever know.  Not only for his own dignity, but for his uncle’s sake as well.  His secret was safe.

 

The room cleared, leaving only Laurent and Damen.  Laurent wanted time to compose himself further.  Wanted to put everything aside until the distaste of kissing his uncle’s ring was washed away.  Instead, he rounded on Damen.  He and his slave had things to discuss.

***

***

Laurent wondered later, as Damen’s words bounced around inside his head, if the very thing which the Regent had hoped to break Laurent with might be the piece he needed to gain an advantage.   _ If you could beat your uncle on your own, you would have done it already. _  The words were true.  He’d won battles, over the years, but the Regent seemed impossible to defeat.  They were, at best, evenly matched.  They would circle each other until someone made a mistake.  Like that, there was no way to predict who would win.

The events of the last months played in Laurent’s mind over and over again.  It distracted him from precious time he could have spent planning, plotting, seeking support.  Instead, he was focusing on Damen’s actions. 

Laurent, a man who’d never wasted time on supposition or idle daydreams, wondered if Auguste and Damen might have been friends had their nations not been at war.  In many ways, they were alike.  They saw the path to truth and justice in a straight line, treated others with a rigid sense of honor, and prized integrity in all things.  Perhaps they could have been lovers.  But no, Auguste had preferred women.  What would Damen have thought of Laurent, then?  Would he still have been attracted to him, his friend’s younger brother?  If- If Laurent had not been ruined, he might have been softer, sweeter.  He might have been flattered by Damen’s interest.  Damen could have courted him, in that straightforward way of his, and because there would be no reason to doubt, Laurent would believe him if he said that he cared.  Damen might have been the one to take his innocence.  Gently.  Lovingly.  There would have been nothing to fear, despite Damen’s power.  It would have been used to bring him pleasure, not pain.

For the first time not under the influence of a drug, Laurent had an erection.  He slammed the door on those foolish thoughts and fought waves of nausea at his body’s reaction.  That was not the world they lived in, and it never would be.  It did not matter in what ways Damen and Auguste were alike because Damen had killed him, and that forever separated Laurent and Damen.  Laurent was frigid, and it was Damen’s fault.  If they ever fucked, it would be because he was pretty, not because Damen cared for him.  It would not be done gently and lovingly.  Damen would bend him over and take his pleasure.  He wouldn’t try to hurt Laurent, no, because he was not that kind of man, but that would be the extent of his consideration.

Perhaps… perhaps that was the best someone like Laurent could hope for.

Frustrated with himself for circling back to that thought again, Laurent stood and paced his rooms.  Even here, which had always been an untouched place for him, was now saturated with thoughts of Damen.  If he looked closely, he could still see the bloodstains on the floor from when he’d been attacked.  Damen had protected him.  It had been thoughtless for him.   Laurent had been unarmed, alone against three men, so of course Damen had defended him.  They were enemies; Laurent had seen Damen flogged within an inch of his life, debased him, forced sexual activity on him, humiliated him for no other reason than it was fun.  And Damen had defended him.  Because it was the  _ right _ thing to do.

Laurent’s thoughts again turned to Auguste.  Pain struck him, and he pushed it away.

Damen was a powerful tool.  He was strong, smart, and a leader of men.  He was loyal and honest.  Laurent could not trust him, no - he trusted no one.  But he could trust that Damen would do what was just, and what was right for his country.  For now, that meant helping Laurent.

Maybe, just maybe, if they could work together, they stood a chance of success.


	9. Chapter 9

Chastillon held nothing but bad memories for Laurent.  The last time he’d been in the fort, his uncle had brought him with the object of carrying out some of his more depraved tastes in relative privacy that the palace did not afford.  They had come several times, those first two years.  Before Laurent had grown cold, before he could no longer be made to squirm from pain.  

 

When he heard that he was to be housed that night in the Regent’s chambers, he’d nearly demanded they find him a different room.  He’d spent enough time in his uncle’s rooms for a lifetime.  He would never again enter them willingly.  But the Regent was back in the capital, and there was nothing for Laurent to fear in that bed.  No one was waiting for him in it.  In a flash, he had decided it was time to start reclaiming.  He needed to stop thinking of his uncle as the monster that haunted his dreams, but instead as a man that could be beaten.  Laurent would not let their past affect his actions now.  

 

After what seemed like hours of trying to get Govart to tell him whatever blackmail it was he had on the Regent, Laurent returned to the fort.  In the Regent’s rooms - Laurent’s rooms, now - Damen was waiting for him.  He dismissed the guard and sat down, knowing that he would be getting no sleep this night.  Just because he was going to stay in these rooms to prove a point to himself, did not mean he would be in any way capable of sleeping in that bed.

 

Damen studied him, seemed surprised that Laurent was willing to be alone with him.  It was an expression of trust, not in the man himself, no, but in trust of his character, that Laurent handed him a knife.  Or perhaps, it was some reckless self-destruction.  If a man like Damen could kill him like this, it seemed the polite thing to do was walk into the blade.  But of course, Damen was unwilling to hurt him.  They seemed to have called a truce of sorts.  They couldn’t trust each other, didn’t like each other, but for the moment they were allies in a common cause.  When it was over, when they reached the border, things would be different.  Then, when Damen was handed a blade, Laurent would have one of his own.

 

He wondered, idly, why the thought of killing Damen unsettled him so.  His uncle and even the guards had said more than once that they thought him infatuated.  His head turned by his first taste of cock.  The Regent had even had the audacity to claim that Damen had taken his innocence.  Laurent wondered if it wasn’t the opposite.  Damen never took.  He only seemed to give back, and when no one would have blamed him to act otherwise.

 

When the time came, his will to live and desire to see his uncle fall would have to war with his self-hatred and his steadily growing care for the wellbeing of the man who would be fighting him.  

 

***

 

The trek north was far different than it might have been, had Damen not come.  The Regent’s men, who had no respect for Laurent, at least respected the strength of Damen.  And Laurent’s own men gave him grudging support, despite what they assumed he was doing with their prince.  If not for the interference of Govart - on the Regent’s orders, of course - they might have stood a chance of becoming a decent troupe.  Instead, they were struggling to keep at a steady pace.  

 

Laurent did not want to kill Govart.  At least not until he discovered whatever blackmail he had on the Regent.  Still, that was a single endgame that would be worthless if Laurent got killed at soon as they reached the border.  Something would have to be done sooner.

 

The servant from the keep had been eager for gold, even if Govart was not a man she would have gladly bedded otherwise.  Laurent sent her to the stable and waited.  Then, he had Govart summoned.  He had a show to put on.

 

Provoking the thug had been simple enough.  Govart  hated Laurent.  The fact that Auguste’s honor had been called into question grated on Laurent’s nerves, but he would soon have restitution for it.  He wondered, as he circled Govart and let him grow more and more foolish in his fighting, how many of the men in the troupe thought he had fucked his brother.  Just because they weren’t all suicidal enough to say it out loud like Govart, didn’t mean that they weren’t thinking it.  He remembered years ago when the Regent had used spreading that rumor as a threat.  Laurent would have done anything to prevent it.  He  _ had done _ unspeakable things.  And still, the idea had spread insidiously through the army.  He wondered if Damen suspected it.

 

Later, after he’d beaten Govart and had him turned off,  Damen found him and voiced his suspicion that Laurent had arranged the spectacle.  Laurent didn’t see a reason to deny it.  Honest, straight-forward Damen was aghast.  “You broke a man today.  Doesn’t that affect you at all?  These are lives, not chess pieces in a game with your uncle.”

 

“You’re wrong.  We are on my uncle’s board and these men are all his pieces.”  Laurent knew Damen didn’t understand that, could not conceive the twisted way the Regent thought, how little he valued life - even that of his own family.

 

“Then each time you move one of them, you can congratulate yourself on how much like him you are.”

 

Laurent froze.  He knew the truth of those words.  He’d thought them himself many times.  They were cut from the same cloth, a matched set in depravity and cold-heartedness.  So why did it hurt so much to hear Damen say them?  Why did it feel like the cut of a knife that Damen thought he and the Regent were the same?  

 

Damen did not know the extent of the Regent’s actions.  Then again, even if he did, perhaps he would still think they were the same.  He likely thought Laurent had fucked his brother, so why not his uncle as well?  Something dark and bitter churned in his gut.  He wanted…  If things were different, then perhaps he could be more like Damen.  He could do as Damen went on to suggest, earn the men’s loyalty, let them come to trust him naturally, but-

 

“ _ There isn’t time _ .”  Not to gain the men’s respect, and not to change all the things about himself that they both hated.  He wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, but that wouldn’t change a damn thing.  “There isn’t time,” he repeated, then tried to explain, imparted a little of his plan to Damen.  He didn’t owe the man any explanation, but he found himself wanting to give it anyway.  In the end, Damen agreed to help him, but it was clear he wasn’t sure Laurent was up to the task.  Laurent was determined to prove him wrong.

 

***

 

The next day, Laurent addressed the men.  He appointed Jord new Captain and bought himself two more weeks to prepare the men.  Jord wasted no time putting the soldiers to work, training them hard that day.  Laurent worked right alongside them.  No one would have any reason to claim the prince was shirking his duty or taking it easy.

 

That night Laurent, Damen, and Jord sat together to discuss what they had accomplished and what yet needed to be done.  It seemed possible.  After Jord left, Damen floundered for a moment, as if unsure he was welcome in the tent, despite the fact that they had been sharing a sleeping space since leaving the palace.  He said something about going out and tending his armor, but Laurent told him to bring it in instead.  Damen obeyed, sitting down and keeping his eyes steadily on the straps he was inspecting.

 

“What do you think of Jord?” Laurent asked suddenly.  Laurent had known the man far longer than Damen, but Damen was a natural leader of men.  The fact that he’d suggested Almeric be the one turned off instead of Lazar after their altercation told Laurent that he was a rational judge of soldier, even when other choices would be easier.

 

“I like him.  You should be pleased with him.   He was the right choice of Captain.”

 

Simple, honest words.  Damen spoke his mind without artifice.  That alone proved what Laurent said next.  “No, you were.”  Damen was shocked.  The men wouldn’t follow him because of his nationality, he insisted.  And it was partly true.  The soldiers respected his strength, but that didn’t mean they would be willing to take orders from him. Not yet, anyway, and there wasn’t time to surpass that hurdle.  Still, he wished that he could use Damen to his best advantage.  When he said as much, Damen seemed taken aback.  He claimed that Laurent surprised him, that he continued to do so.  Laurent laughed and returned the sentiment.

 

There was a comfortable pause before Damen asked what the second reason Laurent could not appoint him captain was.   It took Laurent a moment to be able to answer that one in the same detached tone he’d spoken of everything else in.

 

“The men think you bend me over inside this tent.  It would erode my authority.  My carefully cultivated authority.”  It was true, and Damen had to know it, but the look on his face was one of shock.  Surely he knew Laurent was aware of what the men thought.  “Now I have really surprised you.  Perhaps if you were not a foot taller, or quite so broad across the shoulders-”

 

“It’s considerably less than a foot,” Damen interrupted him.  Did talk of fucking Laurent make Damen uncomfortable?  Good.  Laurent didn’t like being thought of that way, either, but he still had to live with it.  They could both be uncomfortable with the scrutiny their unconventional relationship received.

 

“Is it?  It feels like more when you argue with me on points of honor.”  It did.  Always.  Damen had the habit of reminding Laurent continually that he was the bigger man, both physically and morally.  It was exhausting, almost as much as the daily physical fatigue he received training along with the men.

 

Again, the uncomfortable look was back on Damen’s face.  “I want you to know, that I haven’t done anything to encourage the idea that I- that you and I-”

 

Laurent scoffed and dismissed the idea.  Damen would have found it  _ dishonorable _ to try and use the rumor to discredit Laurent, and it never would have occurred to him to lie just to be cruel.  That knowledge was what gave Laurent the courage to make his next request.  He rose and asked Damen to undress him.

 

The confining laces that were his everyday armor came off far easier with the help of another, but that wasn’t the reason he’d begun asking Damen to attend him.  Originally, it had been a test of them both.  Of Damen’s honor, and of Laurent’s control of his fears and willpower.  Yes, there was still a thread of degradation in it - Damen doing the work of a slave undressing his master - but that had long since fallen away.  Somehow Damen never did anything the way a slave would.  Even serving Laurent, it felt more like the way a lover would than a slave might.

 

When he was down to his undershirt, Damen turned away and Laurent took the unobserved moment to try and ease the tension in his shoulders.  He felt as though he’d spent the last seven years in a state of perpetual tension.  All of that had culminated in the last several weeks, and though there was some release in the honest physical exertion of training, there was also pain with it.  Laurent was not naturally physically capable like Damen.  He had to fight tooth and nail for the strength he’d gained.  It wore on him, just like everything else.

 

With effort, he schooled his features once more and turned to Damen.  The pseudo-slave was glaring at him as if Laurent had offended him.  What, he wondered, could he have possibly done in the thirty seconds since they’d last spoken?  Laurent had been open and honest with him, moreso than he was with almost anyone else.  What more could Damen ask from him?

 

_ His freedom… _

 

Laurent pushed the thought aside.  He would have to face it soon enough, but in the meantime, Damen was still his slave, and Laurent refused to quell at Damen’s glare.  He returned it with one of his own, got into bed, and forced himself to get the sleep he so desperately needed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We pick up here at page 62 and go through to page 167. Youre going to notice that we start making bigger and bigger jumps in the book, as most of this part of the story is politics and war, which is written in depth in the books and doesnt need expanded. 
> 
> A quick run down of events in this part of the book: Aimeric and Jord hook up, Laurent and Damen ride into town and they visit the brothel then the tavern, Damen meeting up with Charls, the troupe being ambushed (and Orlant being blamed), more travelling, arriving at Acquitart, Laurent and Damen being smuggled into Vask, and some sexytimes had by Damen there.

The two weeks extra they had to train the troupe went by precariously fast.  Laurent’s plans were falling into place, but not without effort.  He and Damen had needed to go into the closest town to meet with the messenger, and then subterfuge was the only way to do so without being followed.

 

Laurent was surprised, in spite of all the ways Damen had proved himself in the past, at how readily he complied with Laurent.  How well he protected him.  There was no telltale fear being alone in the room with Damen, even in the rough-and-tumble tavern where no one would come running if he were to scream.  He and Damen could… talk.  

 

It was a novel thing for Laurent, who’d not had a confidant since Auguste’s death.  The irony that it would come again in the form of Auguste’s killer was not lost on him.  Still, he was weak enough to take his respite where he could, and their conversation flowed easily.  Listening to Damen talk about his brother’s betrayal sent a strange bolt of sympathy through Laurent.  There was no sense in comparing the two situations, and doing so would only bring bitterness, but Laurent could admit that in so many ways, losing a beloved brother to betrayal was worse than losing him to a war.  Auguste had died, but Laurent had never doubted his love and loyalty.  Having to accept that his brother had betrayed him, killed their father and then sent him away to a fate worse than death… Laurent knew he would not have survived such a thing.  Perhaps he hadn’t survived his own fate - not in any way worth surviving - but he had his brother’s memory, and that was worth more than his own life.

 

The conversation turned, and this time, Laurent was glad it did, even though the subject turned to sex.  Usually he avoided talk of sex at all costs, but he supposed all things were relative.  And Damen’s question seemed drawn from honest curiosity rather than any attempt to gain advantage or taunt.

 

“I’m not a virgin,” he said, feeling ridiculous for even having to clarify even though he understood why Damen might wonder.  If only he knew…

 

“I wondered, if you reserved your love for women.”

 

Laurent’s brows drew together at the flawed logic.  “No, I-”  Of course that was what Damen would have thought.  Not that Laurent had been born frigid, or that all sensuality had been raped out of him by his deviant uncle.  Just that he preferred women instead.  Laurent almost wished he did.  He looked over Damen and had the fleeting thought that had anything of his old self survived those years in his uncle’s bed, Laurent would likely have preferred men.  And he might have preferred men like Damen.  What a ridiculous notion.  He laughed.  “No.”

 

“Have I said something to offend you?  I didn’t mean-”

 

“No.”  It was so innocent, his hesitance at the thought that he might have hurt Laurent’s sensibilities in some way, that Laurent decided to offer him what small consolation he could.  He explained that Jokaste had picked Kastor not because of any flaw in Damen’s character, but because it was strategic.  It was what he would have done, if the situations were reversed.  Pick the easier man to control, the weaker man.

 

Damen protested - Laurent didn’t know Kastor, he couldn’t be sure that was why.  But Laurent didn’t need to know Kastor.  Knowing Damen was enough.

 

As if shocked into silence, Damen didn’t say anything more.  Laurent got himself more comfortable in the bed, watching Damen settle against the pallet of blankets he’d laid by the fire.  He thought back to what he’d just said - that he would have made the same choice Jokaste had.  And wondered if that was really true.  If he didn’t know Damen as he did, if he wasn’t sure of his sense of honor, of justice, if he hadn’t seen first hand the strength of him and the fortitude of the man, then maybe he would have picked Kastor.  But now that he  _ did _ know Damen…

 

If he had to pick between submitting himself to a treacherous fool for behind the scenes control and security, or standing beside Damen and fighting with him as an equal… it seemed that perhaps he would make a different choice, after all.

 

Several hours later, when they were trapped on the balcony of the room next to theirs, listening to the men sent after him mistake the local drunk and the tavern prostitute for the two of them, Laurent could only laugh.  He was pressed against Damen’s body, adrenaline and something that might have been mild hysteria coursing through him.  He felt… almost…  _ aroused _ .  He kept shifting against the solid wall of Damen’s body, taking an almost sick glee in being able to do so without worrying that Damen would take advantage.  Had he ever been that comfortable with anyone other than Auguste?

 

No, he hadn’t.  It was liberating.  Twisted, terrifying still, inappropriate considering the very real danger they were in, and yet he almost felt giddy with it.  He felt Damen’s cock stir against him and wanted to provoke him further.  Wanted to see just how far he could push-

 

Perhaps the constant strain and exhaustion was getting to him, addling his senses and robbing him of reason.  Still, the fact that there was a person at all whom he could feel that way with was a revelation to him.  When it came time for them to split up, Laurent was almost reluctant for them to part.  He knew, logically, that Damen could have left several times if that had been his plan.  There was nothing tying him to Laurent but good intentions and a desire to thwart war.  Those things wouldn’t change if they were parted, and yet, Laurent didn’t want Damen to leave his side.  Had he become accustomed to the other prince’s presence?  Had he come to find some strange sort of comfort in having the hulking man constantly by his side?

 

Foolish, foolish sentiment.  He sent Damen away and continued on, forcing himself to acknowledge that despite this new and unexpected discovery, nothing had changed between them, and the plan had to proceed uninterrupted.

 

***

 

The night in the Vaskian camp brought Laurent’s confusing jumble of feelings into more startling, and relieved, clarity.  He’d watched from across the fire, as Damen bedded first one, then two, then half a dozen of Halvik’s women.

 

Not one of the encounters looked anything less than pleasurable for everyone involved.  Damen seemed exactly what he was rumored to be - an open, giving lover.  Eventually, Laurent had felt the heat of watching Damen work travel down to his groin, and he’d excused himself to his tent.  It wasn’t as surprising, this time, to find that he could be attracted physically to Damen.  The sheer masculine beauty of him, combined with his inherent sense of honor and generosity, was enough to stir Laurent’s blood.

 

No, he’d never expected to find anyone who could rouse him, and no, he’d certainly never expected it would come in the form of his brother’s killer.  But in those moments, it was easy to forget all the tarnished history between them and think of Damen simply as a man.  One who had looked like some carnal god of lust with his body moving in the firelight, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten as his muscles bunched and flexed.

 

It was impossible, of course.  Nothing could ever be between them. Perhaps that was why he felt no petty jealousy for the women Damen bedded that night.  Instead, he only felt a vague kind of joy that he was still capable of those thoughts at all.  He was  _ grateful _ to Damen for giving him that, for letting him see that - though he could never act on it - he was not totally broken.

  
He laughed when Damen returned to the tent, drunk and sated.  They laughed together, the banter light and easy.  Laurent’s final joke,  _ take me to bed _ , was met with more laughter, and he marveled at the ability to make light of something that had for so long utterly repulsed him.  It was a change he’d never imagined, and one he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but grateful for.  As always, being near Damen left him feeling that the ground beneath him was shifting, and this time, Laurent was willing to let himself be carried along.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was a little short because this one is a beast, and contains one of the scenes I was most looking forward to... Sexy times between our boys! We start at page 200 (skipping over the troupe arriving at Ravenel, meeting Guion, and the general dick waving of the men there, the attacks on the border, and jump right to Damen and Laurent scouting the border). I touch very briefly on the events after Damen saves Laurent's life (which are covered in pages 209-304) then get back into it through the end of their first tumble on page 343 and bonus chapter 19.5. Its a huge chunk of the book to cover in a single chapter, but when you skip the battle scenes and arguing between various leaders, it can be distilled down to the important interactions between Laurent and Damen.
> 
> Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

The next shift left Laurent reeling, despite how accustomed he was becoming to being surprised by Damen.

 

The chaos after the attacks at the border had left little time for any personal revelations.  Now, he was in full battle mode, planning his every step.  He could not make a single error at this point, or all would be lost.  They were too close to the border, too close to the cusp of war, for anything less than perfection.  He could only trust that Damen would continue to see serving Laurent as the best thing for Aklieos.  And Damen had indeed lived up to that hope.

 

The arrow that had been meant for his throat missed by inches.  If the horse hadn’t reared when she did, it would have killed him.  Instead, he’d been spared, only to find himself on his back in the river bank, watching his death approach with a sword.  He had no time to roll away, no time to draw a weapon to defend himself, no time to do anything but have a single, unfinished thought of regret.  Then, just when the sword should have fallen against his neck, the man standing over him was sent flying to the ground, pinned there by a broadsword through his chest.  

 

_ Damen’s _ broadsword.  Laurent had a moment to look up, see that Damen had  _ thrown _ it like a javelin across the river, and then Damen was crashing to his side, eyes wide with something like terror, his concern palpable.

 

“I saw you fall-”  His voice was low and urgent, his hands already moving over Laurent, seeking injury.  “Are you hurt?”

 

It took Laurent a moment to reply.  He couldn’t find the words.  Damen had killed a man for him.  Not an assassin, not another Veretian, but one of his own countrymen.  A member of his  _ own _ army.  Damen had put his sword through the man’s chest because he’d been about to hurt Laurent - who he still had every reason to want dead.  He felt shaken to his very core.  “No.  No, you got him.  Before.”  What else could he say?  He felt his hands trembling and castigated himself for it.  This was nothing.  So his sworn enemy had killed an ally for him.  So his first concern had been for Laurent’s safety.

 

And yet, it was everything.  When they were taken captive that night, he could only think of keeping Damen safe.  When Halvik offered her women to Damen again, he couldn’t help but refuse in his stead, wanting foolishly to keep Damen to himself.  Back at the fort once more, when Damen had gently touched the bruise on his jaw, had said how he’d wanted to avenge that small slight, Laurent could only stare at him in shock yet again.

 

Shifting, continually shifting.  Laurent felt as though he could never get a solid footing.  There was no time to even try, between the betrayal of Almeric and the taking of Ravenel, he could do no more than watch as his carefully cultivated plans unfolded around him.  Damen was the lynchpin in them.  He was the one who led the men, he was the one who won the battle.

 

After, when they stood on the battlements while the rest of the troupe celebrated, Laurent finally felt as though he could catch his breath.  The conversation he had with Damen seemed to have two very different meanings, and when Damen said, “I wish I could have behaved to you with more honor,” Laurent thought he could hear Damen saying, “I wish I could have met you as I am, and not in disguise.”  And then, his offer of friendship, said in that direct and honest way of his, nearly stole Laurent’s breath.

 

“Friends, is that what we are?”  It seemed so much more, and yet so much less.  How could they be friends, when Damen thought Laurent didn’t even know his identity?  They were natural enemies - and yet, they were so much  _ more _ than friends.  If circumstances had been different, they would have already been lovers.  They were confidantes, unwitting and unexpected.

 

“Laurent, I am your slave.”  And there it was again, the words with so much more meaning to them than could be interpreted by an outsider.  Damen wasn’t his slave, not the way everyone thought.  He never had been.  Saying that, it wasn’t an admission of his status.  It was a plea, a promise.  He was laying himself at Laurent’s feet.  Laurent suddenly felt terrified.

 

Damen reached out, gently cupped his jaw. This time, Laurent didn’t pull away, didn’t just stand there in wide eyed shock.  He found himself leaning ever so slightly into the soft touch, despite his shaking hands and shuddering breaths.  On their own, his eyes closed.  He felt Damen move infinitesimally closer, felt the heat of him, the strength of him.  Slowly, carefully, Damen’s head lowered to his own, and then his lips were slanting over Laurent’s.

 

He didn’t know what to do.  He’d never been kissed - not like this - and he was so terribly uncertain, but he wanted this, wanted more, wanted, for  _ once _ to feel loved without the grotesque force of his uncle driving it.  He opened his mouth slightly and Damen kissed him again, the barest hint of his tongue flicking against Laurent’s lips, not pushing him too far or too fast.

 

If not for Jord’s inopportune interruption, Laurent thought he might have let Damen have him right on the battlements, just to thank him for showing him what kissing could be like.

 

And then, his own little version of hell had to be faced instead.  Aimeric was just like the others, convinced that the Regent loved them, that he wouldn’t betray them.  But this time, his uncle’s treachery hadn’t just hurt him, it had caught Jord, and it had nearly cost him the fort.  The more he talked to Aimeric, a poor mirage of every boy who’d gone to the Regent’s bed before and since, the more his rage grew.  

 

It felt like his fault.   _ He _ was the one who’d failed Aimeric.  Hadn’t he been grateful when his uncle had gone out to that fort, had found a little distraction?  Hadn’t he wished for it?  Hadn’t he felt a sliver of jealousy at the thought of being cast aside?  Each thought scalded him more than the last until he was a seething, writhing mass of hatred.  His anger built and built until Damen sent everyone from the room.

 

Hours later, when he had called himself every name he knew, when he had cursed his uncle’s existence and Aimeric’s stupidity, when he’d burned through his anger at Jord for being taken in by him, all that was left was unresolved tension.  He was frustrated and there was no outlet for it, no explanation for the feelings left roiling inside of him.

 

It all came back to Damen.  Suddenly, he was angry again, this time at Damen.  He was the one who’d woken  _ more _ in Laurent.  Had opened him up the possibility that he might experience pleasure instead of pain, that he might be met with loyalty instead of betrayal.  That he might be given to willingly instead of stolen from.  What right did he have to create those expectations, and then abandon him to never being able to truly experience them?

 

At least Aimeric had been able to take Jord to his bed, to feel the touch of a real lover, to know the sweet seduction of someone who  _ cared _ .  Laurent had never felt that, and when Damen left in the morning, so would Laurent’s only chance of experiencing it, too.

 

He went back to his rooms where Damen was waiting.  He tried to use as few words as possible as he pushed Damen onto the bed and loosened his clothes.  It felt unreal as his hands moved over Damen’s skin, something like fear and yet different - anticipation? - coiling in him.  He knew how to get Damen off, knew exactly how to bring him to release.  If he did it, would the uncertainty, the neediness in him finally abate?  His skin felt stretched too tight, as though every inch of it itched, and he used every bit of his considerable will to keep his hands from shaking.

 

In minutes, Damen was panting beneath him, still putting up brief resistance, and then he came, short and sharp.  He’d done it.  He’d serviced Damen.  It had felt nothing like servicing his uncle, and yet, it had felt nothing like he thought it would.  He felt… unfulfilled.  As though he should expect more, even though every time before he had always wanted nothing more than to flee at this point.  He wavered, thinking it would be better if he left, if he took time to organize his mind, to sort through his thoughts - but then Damen’s voice was huskily asking, “kiss me,” and he decided  _ why the hell not _ , and leaned in.

 

And then, it was as if the world around them slowed.  The last vestiges of anger that had been simmering in Laurent’s blood cooled.  Damen kissed him as Laurent imagined a lover would.  Slowly, sweetly, deeply.  He let Laurent lead, but never left any doubt that he  _ wanted _ this.  When his lips moved down to Laurent’s neck, it sent a jolt of pleasure through him that left him almost painfully aroused.  He’d never been touched like this, never felt tender kisses and teasing strokes.

 

Damen began undressing him, slowly, carefully, pausing at increments as though to make sure Laurent would still allow him to continue.  As if Laurent  _ could _ stop him.  Perhaps, with Damen, he could… but he found that he didn’t want to.  He wanted to see what this could be like, wanted to know-

 

When his shirt fell from his shoulders, Damen looked at him in shock, seeing his nipples tight, not with the coolness of the air, but with arousal.  “Did you think I was made of stone?”  For some reason, the idea irritated him.  Everyone thought he was frigid - why should Damen think anything less?  And yet, he wanted Damen to see more than that.  Perhaps his emotions showed a fraction, because Damen’s movements slowed, and he said-

 

“Nothing you don’t want,” Damen assured in a hushed tone.  It relaxed Laurent fractionally, and he was frustrated that it did.  He was the one who’d initiated this.  Even if Damen was cruel, it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before.  So why did he take such comfort in knowing that Damen wouldn't do anything he didn’t want?  Why did it make his chest feel warm and his stomach fill with butterflies?

 

“You think I don’t want it?”  He tried to make his voice sound haughty and dismissive, but Damen must have caught a thread of something else in it, because a moment later they were moving, Damen pushing Laurent back down on the bed and rising over him.  He leaned forward, running his hand down the planes of Laurent’s chest, over his stomach to the pale line of hair there, then pausing at the lacing of his breeches.  There was still a thread of fear, yes, but so much more than that as well.

 

Laurent pushed Damen back with his foot, making it clear that Damen was to remove his boot.  It was novel,  _ asking _ to be undressed for this, knowing what was coming.  Damen obliged, his hands lingering on Laurent’s skin, caressing.  Despite the pleasure of it, Laurent had to fight his initial reaction to squirm away.  Had to remind himself that he was  _ choosing _ this.  That he wanted Damen.  That Damen was not the Regent, was so far from that, so different-

 

Then the kissing shut down all thoughts of his uncle.  There was no room left for it, not with Damen coaxing him to deeper and deeper arousal, tracing the lines of his body in feather light touches, sliding down his pants gently, unhurried.  Damen slipped further down the bed until his mouth was hovering over Laurent’s cock.  For a moment, all he could think was that he wanted, desperately, to experience this.  But then a frisson of fear went up his spine.  If Damen did this, he would expect the favor returned, surely.  Laurent didn’t think he could do it, didn’t think he could let Damen shove that immense length down his throat - not without vomiting in disgust and humiliation.

 

“I am not going to reciprocate,” he interrupted.  Suddenly the formality that he wore like a cloak was back, despite their nudity. He felt so terribly vulnerable.

 

“What?”  Damen looked taken aback, as if he couldn’t quite understand what Laurent was saying.

 

“I am not going to do that to you,” Laurent clarified.  Damen’s brows drew together.

 

“And so?”

 

It could not be that simple.  Damen was a generous lover, yes, but no one was that self-sacrificing.  It wasn’t as though this was something that could be  _ enjoyed _ by the giving partner.  “Do you want me to suck your cock?  Because I don’t plan to.”  He needed to make that perfectly clear.  Perhaps lust had addled Damen’s brain.  “If you are proceeding on the expectation of reciprocity, then you had best be forewarned that-”  Laurent’s breath left him abruptly as Damen lowered his head and began sucking.

 

It was hot and sharp and sent flares of pleasure so intensely through Laurent that he felt himself curl up, as if trying to condense himself into the smallest space possible.  Damen held his hips still and continued the sweet, selfless assault on Laurent’s senses.  It took every ounce of his willpower not to throw his head back and cry out.  Not to buck his hips, to beg for more.  And he  _ wanted _ more.  He felt like he needed it more than his next breath.  But years of forcing himself  _ not _ to come, of associating it with only sickening humiliation, were not so easy to dispel.  With no drug in his system helping the matter along, it seemed that it would be impossible.  He couldn’t let go, couldn’t relax enough to achieve that last, ultimate pleasure.

 

Damen raised his head again, and Laurent almost let out a breath of relief.  It wasn’t going to work.  He should have known as much.  All that remained was for Damen to mount him, and then the event would be over.  He could say that he’d tried it.  He’d even enjoyed it, as much as someone like him was capable.

 

“I… find it difficult to let go of control,” he said softly, as if to explain.  He felt that he somehow owed Damen that much, though he couldn’t tell him the truth.  What would Damen think, if he blurted it out?  If he said,  _ I can’t come because the last time I orgasmed with a man it was while my uncle drugged and raped me _ .  It was horrifically comical to imagine.  The way Damen would draw back in disgust, the revulsion on his face as he wiped his mouth, sickened at having put something so tainted in it.

 

“No kidding,” Damen replied, not sounding frustrated or even disappointed.  As always, Damen surprised him.  He looked between Damen’s legs and saw his erection there, jutting out from his hips expectantly.  Damen hadn’t acted on it, but the intent was there.  Laurent shuddered internally, thinking of the last time this had happened.  Of how painful it had been, how humiliating.  This wasn’t the same, though.  At least, Damen wouldn’t be trying to cause him pain.  He wouldn’t be trying to degrade him, to shame him.

 

“You want to take me, as a man takes a boy.”  It wasn’t a question.  It was a declaration of intent.  Damen’s face twisted a little.

 

“As a man takes a  _ man _ ,” he clarified.  Of course.  Damen didn’t fuck boys.  He wanted to pleasure Laurent, wanted them both to find release-

 

“You make it sound simple.”  He didn’t want to hear Damen talk about making him come, about the pleasure to be had.  It wasn’t as though it was a piece of fruit that only needed to be plucked from the branch.

 

“It  _ is _ simple.”

 

“Simpler to play the man than to roll over, I venture,” Laurent snapped at him.  Did he not realize that no matter how gentle he was, there would still be  _ some _ pain?  That there would always be a certain amount of degradation in being the one used, in being the cock sleeve of another man?  Why wouldn’t he just shut up and  _ do  _ it?  If he dawdled much longer, Laurent would lose his courage and-

 

“Then tell me your own pleasure.  Do you think I’m just going to flip you over and mount?”

 

_ Yes!  Just get it over with! _  Laurent didn’t say the words, didn’t scream them in Damen’s face as he wanted.  How could he?  There was no way to explain, nothing he could say that didn’t sound like an admission that he didn’t  _ want _ it at all.  But he did.  Didn’t he?  “Is that what you want?”  Damen’s voice was soft and low, startled in the realization that it might be true.  Laurent struggled to control his breathing, struggled to make his mind function in any fraction of its normal capacity.  Fear and arousal and excitement and terror were clouding his every thought.

 

“I want-”  What did he really want?  “I want it to be simple.”  Perhaps, what he really wanted, was for the last seven years to be undone.  What he wanted was to be able to meet Damen in bed as a man, whole and unspoiled.  To be able to take pleasure in this the way Damen would.  But he knew that was impossible.

 

“Turn over,” Damen ordered softly.  Laurent’s eyes snapped to his face.  How many times had he heard those exact words?  And yet, they were so different.  Damen looked calm, relaxed, determined.  There was no malice, no spite, no uncontrolled lust.  Could Laurent do as he asked, knowing what was coming?  Could he present himself to Damen in his most vulnerable state, practically begging to be defiled?  

 

Laurent closed his eyes and turned over.

 

He wanted to give this to Damen, despite what it would take from him.  He laid with his stomach pressed to the bed and spread his thighs, fighting with everything in him not to tremble violently.  He could do this.  He’d survived it before, hadn’t he?  And this would be different.  Not the mechanics, no, but Damen  _ cared _ for Laurent.  Surely that had to mean something.

 

Damen’s hand slid from his hips to his ribs and Laurent flinched, his breathing becoming ragged.  He felt, shamefully, that he might burst into tears.  He refused.  He just had to bite his tongue and get through this.  He wanted this.  His cock was still hard beneath him.   _ It _ wanted this.  Why couldn’t his mind catch up?

 

“You’re so tense.  Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

 

“Yes-” he bit off the word, trying to push away the feeling that accompanied the thought of all the things he’d done before.  The smell of sweat and blood, the taste of bile on his tongue-

 

“ _ This _ .”  Damen pressed his fingers lightly into the cleft of Laurent’s ass and he had to fight not to let out a cry and jerk away.  Penetration.  Yes, Laurent had been penetrated.  Ravaged, defiled, filled to the brim-

 

“Yes.”

 

“But - wasn’t it-”

 

“Will you  _ stop talking about it _ !”  Whatever Damen thought it should have been, it wasn’t.  It was nothing like anything Damen’s innocent mind could conceive.  Laurent didn’t want to be reminded.  He didn’t want to think about his uncle and the twisted games he had made Laurent play.  He didn’t want those memories mixed up with this, with Damen and the things he made Laurent feel.  Even as he spoke, Damen was kissing up Laurent’s neck, pressing his lips almost reverently to Laurent’s skin.

 

Damen was the antithesis of the Regent.  Laurent  _ knew _ that.  The fact that he was turning Laurent over, searching his face for any sign of reluctance, was proof enough.  Damen’s eyes landed on Laurent’s cock, still flushed and wanting.  It didn’t make sense to him, that Laurent could want him so much and yet be so reluctant.

 

“Contrary, aren’t you?” he asked, brushing his thumb over Laurent’s flushed cheek.

 

“Fuck me.”

 

“I want to.  Can you let me?”

 

Laurent closed his eyes, wishing that it could be different.  Wishing that  _ he _ could be different.  But nothing would change who and what he was.  “I  _ am _ letting you.  Will you get on with it?”  He thought, if he could just get past this, if Damen could just put aside his compassion and tenderness for long enough to shove it in and get it over with- but then Damen was  _ holding his hand _ .

 

All the things Laurent had seen and done, and now that one little gesture of affection felt like his undoing.  His breath caught, then was mingled with Damen’s as he was kissed, slowly and sweetly.  It was enough to remind him that he  _ didn’t _ just want Damen to roll him over and fuck him.  He didn’t want to be mounted like a bitch in heat, rutted against and then discarded.  With Damen, he wanted  _ more _ .

 

Suddenly feeling a little more in control of himself, Laurent had the presence of mind to pass Damen the oil he’d brought with him.  Not taking his eyes away from Laurent, Damen slicked his fingers and slowly slid one inside.

 

It was… different, than Laurent remembered.  It was over-full even with just that one finger, uncomfortable but not painful.  His breath hitched and he found that when Damen kissed him, it was almost pleasant.  His cock throbbed, untouched between them.  Almost against his will, his body began to relax.  One finger became two.  Their kiss deepened.  Despite his lingering fear, despite every reason he had to hate this, Laurent found his leg drawing up, making more room for Damen.  

 

The fingers inside him curled gently, creating a pleasurable pressure that made Laurent want to moan.  How could this feel so good?  He knew, logically, that coupling had to be pleasant for both partners most of the time, else half the population would swear off the act entirely-  Even still, it shocked him that not only could he endure the stretch of Damen’s fingers inside him, he could  _ enjoy _ it.  How was it possible?  It had always been so brutally invasive before, so degrading, so  _ painful _ …  But then, the Regent had never been as gentle as Damen was, not to mention that Laurent was older, his body larger.  The thought made him cringe. 

 

“I need to be inside you,” Damen whispered.  There was nothing but desire and need, leashed tightly for Laurent’s sake.  It was a request, not a demand, and that alone made Laurent want to let him, despite the thrum of panic that swept through him at the thought.  Damen was so much  _ bigger _ -

 

“Yes.”  He forced out his agreement and pushed the fear back.  He  _ wanted _ this, and every tiny slide forward of Damen felt like a reclamation of who he once was.  Of what he could have been.  There was pressure, incredible pressure, as the head of Damen’s cock pushed against him, but at the slight easing of his body on a long, slow kiss, it slipped in without pain.  There was burning heat, and friction despite the slick of the oil, but no stabbing discomfort like he’d always known before.  Damen continued the ingress, not with a brutal shove, but with short, shallow thrusts designed to let him acclimate to the invasion.  It was gentle, it was considerate, it was driving Laurent mad.  He could feel himself building, the tension in him rising, every reluctance being swept away by pleasure.  And pleasure it was.  Like nothing he’d ever experienced before, it ran riot through him, giving him what he’d always felt impossible.  His body wound tighter and tighter as Damen surrendered his weight forward, the taut, over heated skin of his abdomen trapping Laurent’s cock between them and providing delicious friction.

 

It was almost more than he could bear, the continual building towards something that he didn’t know if he could achieve, the emotions tearing through him and leaving him feeling weak, out of control.  Perhaps it was that loss of control.  Perhaps it was the way Damen whispered his name reverently, desperately, the ragged words in his native tongue professing the wild need for him to find release, almost a plea for Laurent to allow it.

 

“Yes, come inside me,” he gasped.  His body shuddered violently, jagged shards of pleasure lancing him through again and again as his cock pulsed between them. He felt the swell of Damen complying, reaching his own orgasm simultaneously like something out of a story, the feel of it bringing Laurent, impossibly, sharper pleasure.

 

Slowly, slowly, the clenching of his body began to ease and Laurent felt the haze that had overtaken his mind start to clear.  Damen was nuzzling his neck, pressing feather light kisses to the sweat dampened skin there.  It was achingly sweet.  Old feelings of distaste tried to rise but Laurent was far too sated for them to make full discord.  Still, the feel of Damen’s release slicking his insides was unsettling.  He pushed at Damen’s shoulder and was pleased when Damen easily shifted away.

 

In the alcove across the room, Laurent cleaned himself.  If the copious streaks of his own ejaculate painting his stomach were not enough to speak of how different this encounter had been to any before it, the state of Laurent’s body  _ was _ .  His legs were heavy and his hips felt loose, but there was no pain.  No blood had streaked the cloth he’d cleaned himself with.  No welts crossed his thighs.  Pleasure still buzzed pleasantly along his veins.

 

Feeling relaxed and more than a little satisfied, Laurent managed to only put on his shirt as he returned to the bed carrying a cloth that it turned out Damen did not need.  The savage had wiped himself with his own shirt.  Laurent fought the urge to roll his eyes indulgently.     
  


“Come back to bed,” Damen murmured, his voice still sounding like sex and sin.  

 

“I-” Laurent hesitated.  It was one thing to bear standing before the man he’d just bedded so vulnerably dressed.  But Damen wanted him back under the blankets with him?  For what?  Surely even Damen couldn’t fuck again so soon, and that just left-

 

Damen tugged at his hand, sending Laurent half sprawling across him.  If not for one hand braced on his shoulder, Laurent would have landed chest to chest against him.  Unwittingly, his eyes were drawn to the firm muscles of Damen’s chest.  He swallowed.

 

As they bantered, he let himself be drawn onto the bed beside Damen.  It felt… nice, to be able to open himself up, in however small an extent, to someone he could trust.  And somehow, despite everything that stood between them, he  _ did _ trust Damen.  Only minutes ago, he’d shown yet again that his trust was deserved.  He had not wiped away years of abuse with that one act, but he’d shown Laurent just how much  _ more _ there could be.

 

How much more he wanted.

 

“I’m not afraid of sex,” he suddenly said out loud.  Damen blinked at him, not having followed the trail of his silent thoughts.  He could not have been expected to, without the knowledge of Laurent’s past.  Still, he spread his arms in invitation.

 

“Then you can do as you like.”

 

It was an offer that Laurent could not refuse.  He was building something here.  Not something meant to last, not anything they could plan the future on, but a memory that he would carry with him for the rest of his life.  Proof, undeniable, irrefutable, that not all men fucked the way his uncle did.  That Laurent was not too broken to feel pleasure.  That he could overcome, in this small way, what had been done to him.

 

“Don’t touch me,” he ordered Damen.  To his relief, Damen relaxed onto the bed yet further, his hands opened non threateningly.  He was laid bare before Laurent, unashamed and willing to let Laurent have his way.  It made Laurent all the more eager to explore.  That this man, endlessly strong and effortlessly commanding, would so proudly submit to Laurent’s ministrations…  It was enough to make Laurent’s breath catch.

 

He explored the lines and planes of Damen’s body, marvelling at the taut muscles and patches of rough, dark hair.  Eventually, his eyes dropped down to the scar that Auguste had put there.  Something twisted in Laurent’s stomach unpleasantly.  It was a physical reminder of his brother on his lover’s skin, somehow both appealing and abhorrent.

 

Laurent was again struck by how similar the two men were.  Of the fact that, under different circumstances, Auguste and Damen might have been friends.  For the first time, he felt anger, not that Damen had taken his brother from him, but that all of them had been thrust into that situation to begin with.  Damen and Auguste had not started that war.  It had been raging long before their births, and even the events of that day had been set in motion by others.  One of them had to fall.  Laurent had spent years wishing bitterly that it had been Damen’s lifeblood spilt at Marlas.  Now he could not so readily wish the same.

 

He distracted himself from the uncomfortable thought by bringing up his plans to remove Damen’s collar in the morning, but it did not put as much distance between them as he’d thought it would.  Instead, he was kissing Damen a moment later.

 

It was almost a shock to find Damen hard again.  A third time in a single eve?  But he’d seen Damen go twice that many times before, so perhaps it was not so strange.  After all, Damen was young and virile, not at all like the Regent.  And as if he needed yet more proof of their disparances, the fact that Damen was choosing not to act on his arousal was yet another difference between them.  Damen was content to let Laurent lead, content not to push.

 

And so when Damen’s hand rose to rest on Laurent’s hip, he allowed the contact.  It was not demanding.  It did not bruise.  It caressed.  Damen raised himself enough to press feather light kisses to Laurent’s skin.  He shuddered with pleasure.  To be treated so gently, touched so reverently… It was almost beyond Laurent’s ability to handle.  He realized he was painfully hard, his erection making the shirt tent obscenely, but couldn’t bring himself to care.  He pressed his hips closer to Damens, catching his lips and letting the simple pleasure of it streak through him.  

 

He let it roll over him in waves that ebbed and flowed, cresting each time Damen’s tongue stroked his own.  The slide of their cocks together with nothing but thin cotton separating them was driving Laurent mad, breaking his careful control.  He felt awed by the tenderness of Damen’s touches, laid utterly bare at the open, honest affection in his eyes.

 

Laurent felt  _ safe _ .

 

He came in a wordless shout, only realizing his eyes had fluttered closed when they flew open in shock.  He had just come again, climaxed to the feeling of being  _ safe _ in Damen’s arms.  In the morning, Laurent would have time to consider just how twisted that truly was.  In the morning, he would evaluate his own feelings, and try to find a way to reconcile the man who’d cut down his brother as the man who’d given him so much pleasure.  But not now.  Now he had one single night to be just a man sharing the darkness with his lover.

 

“You can,” he offered Damen, feeling his still erect cock as Damen finally put the towel to use and wiped him clean.  He was relaxed and sated, his body already prepared.  It would be no hardship for Damen to push inside him again, to fuck him in that strong yet gentle way - 

 

“You’re half asleep.”

 

The corner of Laurent’s mouth quirked up ever so slightly at Damen’s sensibilities.  Laurent thought he might love him for that.  “Not quite.”  He wondered what it would take to make Damen have him again.  His chivalry was endearing but Laurent found the idea of enticing Damen beyond it exciting.

 

“We have all night,” Damen said with an indulgent smile.  His eyes flicked to the window, where the moon was already low.  “We have until morning,” he corrected.  

 

Laurent thought of all the things he would have to face when the sun came up.  He thought of all the things he yet wanted to do.

 

“Until morning,” he agreed, and let himself relax into Damen’s embrace, his eyes closing.  He would rest just for a little while, and then he would seduce Damianos beyond all rational thought.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We pick up here in the same night, continuing on with how I think chapter 19.5 would have, if we had seen more of it. From there we follow Laurent the next morning (during which time in the books Damen has his slave gold removed is about to be kicked out of the fort), then there is a fairly sizable time skip that takes us right through the end of PG and to page 20 of Kings Rising where Laurent is imprisoned at Fortaine. Events during that skip: Laurent is shown Nicaise's head, Damen stops him from riding off to Charcy in a rage, they part with plans to meet in battle, Nikandros arrives and recognizes Damen as his King, they set out for battle at Charcy, and Laurent does not join them.

The second time was rougher than the first, and yet somehow, more tender.  Laurent’s body had learned quickly under Damen’s tutelage and was eager for his attentions.  There had been times when, with the assistance of one of the pleasure drugs, the Regent had been able to take Laurent more than once.  He had hated those nights with a burning passion, both for the increased vigor of his uncle’s attention as well as for the added pain of being taken over and over again.

 

As he was discovering everything with Damen would be, this was nothing like that.  Damen was no less careful with his entry, despite the seeming lack of need for it.  When his thrusts became quick and hard, Damen had stopped to add more oil and make sure Laurent was just as eager as he to continue.  Laurent felt drunk on consent, on being able to  _ give _ , and to receive in return, but just as Damen had promised,  _ nothing you don’t want _ .

 

He must have fallen asleep after their last release, because when Laurent opened his eyes again, it was morning.  The sunlight disappointed him.  He was not ready for the night to end.  Neither, it seemed, was Damen.  Waking up to a hard cock against his back was not nearly as distasteful as he might have thought, and it was easy to rationalize to himself that one more coupling was a good idea.

 

With a boldness that surprised even himself, Laurent pushed Damen back onto the bed and straddled him.  The smile on Damen’s face did funny things to Laurent’s stomach, the open, affectionate way he drank in the features of Laurent’s face making his chest tighten.  For a moment, Laurent wondered what it would be like to oil up his cock and press it inside Damen’s spread legs. 

 

Would Damen object?  Likely not, if his unflagging erection and the slight thrust upwards of his hips was any indication.  Laurent wanted to know, wanted to feel it, wanted to experience an orgasm the way a man did -  But he reminded himself sharply that he  _ was _ a man, and he had experienced several orgasms the night before ‘as a man did’, his position during their coupling be damned.

 

He wanted Damen, wanted every bit of him that he could claim, but he didn’t want their last time together to be overshadowed by his inexperience and uncertainty, and, he was under no illusion that this  _ wouldn’t  _ be their last time together.  He had to make the most of it.

 

Taking the almost empty vial of oil from the bedside table, Laurent poured the last of it onto his palm, then laced his fingers with Damen’s.  The slick liquid warmed between them.  Damen moaned and kissed him when Laurent lowered their joined hands to their cocks.  Laurent’s hand alone wouldn’t have been big enough to encircle them both, but Damen’s made up for what he lacked.  Their fingers stayed entwined, palms curling around their eager erections and stroking.

 

It was almost too much, the feel of Damen’s cock against his own, hot skin sliding wetly, the tight grip of their hands adding blissful pressure.  Laurent moaned and hadn’t the presence of mind to hate the sound.  Damen was rocking upwards, fucking into their fists and making little gasping grunts of pleasure.  His free hand was tangled in Laurent’s hair.  Laurent let himself enjoy the bruising kiss, enjoy the grip Damen had on him that was only meant to hold and pleasure, not force and plunder.

 

“ _ Laurent, _ ” Damen breathed his name, body straining, and Laurent was lost.  He came hotly, shuddering with pleasure.  Damen’s thrusting faltered, movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated, then with another low call of Laurent’s name, he added his own release to the streaks Laurent had left on his chest.

 

Almost immediately, Damen melted back onto the bed.  He barely even swiped at the mess before pulling Laurent down again and letting his eyes drift shut.

 

Laurent did not sleep.

 

Everything he’d been pushing back came rushing to the fore.  Damen was leaving.  He would be going back to his own country, to face a treachery he did not yet know the extent of.  Laurent knew that the odds of him making it out with his life were not good.  Still, Damen proved himself, over and over, to be capable of handling anything thrown his way.  Fate seemed to fall before his indomitable will, despite all it dealt him.  Laurent had to believe it would do so in this as well.  He could not continue worrying about Damen, not when he had his own battles to prepare for.  The Regent  was moving his pieces across the board with ruthless efficiency, and Laurent felt that he was just barely keeping up, despite all that he’d set in motion.

 

And those plans did not include Damen in his bed for more than just the one night.  Damen, who hadn’t yet even revealed his identity to Laurent.  Damen, who Laurent hadn’t admitted to that he already knew the truth.  Damen, who was the one man above all others that he could have no future with.

 

He needed to get Damen’s slave gold off and have him on his way before Nikandros came any further south, assuming that he’d taken Laurent’s letter seriously.

 

Laurent rose as quietly as he could, dressed, and slipped from the room.  He needed a bath desperately, and he needed a few moments to grieve for things he could not have.  Then, when he was once again unfeeling and armoured against the world, he had things to do.  

 

***

 

Despite the lingering soreness that filled him with equal measures joy and regret, Laurent went for a ride before deciding to face Aimeric.  And if that time just happened to coincide with the time he expected Damen to be leaving the fort, well then, no one would fault him.  Besides, it wasn’t as though he didn’t have enough turmoil to deal with already.  How was he supposed to deal with Aimeric?

 

If not for Jord, Laurent liked to think it would be a simple matter.  He’d broken his vow, betrayed Laurent, endangered the lives of his men, and thoroughly thrown his lot in with the Regent.  He needed to be executed, and Laurent should feel nothing but satisfaction from it.

 

Instead, in spite of Jord and not because of him, Laurent found himself wrestling with stubborn guilt.  He remembered the cruel things he’d said to Aimeric, how neatly he’d cut him down and laid out his dearest dreams like the pathetic trash they were.

 

Nothing he’d said was untrue.  And yet.  Yet he, better than anyone else, understood why Aimeric had taken the path that he had.  He understood how insidious the Regent’s affections could be, how alluring his promises.  Laurent remembered begging on his knees to be allowed into his uncle’s bed.  His stomach roiled.  He forced himself to remember the repulsive and shameful jealousy he’d felt when the Regent had first gone south and decided to stay with Aimeric.  How confused he’d been, frightened, angry, and furious with the whole world.

 

Aimeric had been a pawn the Regent had toyed with from an early age and then manipulated into the most advantageous position.  The fool truly thought that the Regent  _ loved _ him.  But then, for so long, so had Laurent.

 

No, Laurent didn’t want Aimeric to die.  He didn’t deserve that, not after everything he’d already been through.  He would need to be imprisoned until the Regent was dead, perhaps longer if the grip on him extended beyond the grave.  But after a time, Laurent would see that he was released and provided for.  Somewhere far away from Laurent.  Perhaps he, Laurent, and Nicaise could all stay at opposing corners of the country for the rest of their lives so that they didn’t have to be reminded of their shared pain-

 

The thought had barely flitted across his mind that it would be a shame to lose Jord to Aimeric’s side before Laurent’s every thought was consumed with the riders headed towards the fort.  He wheeled his horse around and urged it as fast as it would carry him to cut them off.

 

***

 

Laurent dreamed of Nicaise.  He dreamed of the boy, not yet fifteen but brash and crass to cover so many unseen scars.  In the dream, the Regent called for Laurent’s execution before the council… and they agreed.  After that, Laurent knew it was a dream, because Nicaise would never have allowed such naked emotion to show on his face, but still, he could not stop the gruesome reality of the events that followed.  

 

Nicaise, coyly on his knees, using the only method he knew to try and plead for Laurent.  He believed in Laurent, trusted him, thought, if he could just help Laurent stay alive for a little longer, then the prince would unseat his uncle and Nicaise’s nightmare would come to an end.

 

But Nicaise was already nearing the end of his usefulness, and the Regent’s fury was unpredictable.  Laurent watched helpless, as the extent of his error dawned on Nicaise.  The growing horror, the struggle to escape that was almost laughably futile.  Laurent heard Nicaise’s screams as the Regent viciously plucked out his eyes, the vivid jewels that had always appealed to him, and dropped them into his water goblet to keep as momentos.  

 

Then, Nicaise was led away to the executioner’s block, screaming.  He was forced to his knees, empty eye sockets turning to the crowd that had gathered as if searching for a rescuer.  “Help me,” he cried out, voice given out to barest scratchings.  “ _ Please, _ ” he begged, so young, terrified beyond his capability to comprehend.  The axe swung.

 

A rider pulled Nicaise’s severed head from a bag, lifting it dispassionately into the air.  The rotting face twisted up in agony and hatred.  “ _ Laurent _ ,” he hissed.

 

Laurent woke.  He had no time to face the nightmare, to grieve for Nicaise, no time to even hate himself for not having been there to save the boy.  Instead, he forced his focus to Govart and what he had to do next.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay all, we have 2 big time skips here. We last left Laurent at the hands of Govart in the dungeon, and when we pick up again for this chapter it is after he escaped, after he met back up with Damen, and after they take Marlas (where Jokaste is). That's basically the whole first half of KR. There are a lot of reasons I skipped over this part, but mostly it's that there is so much plot that there doesnt need to be much focus on Laurent's side of things separately, and that's what this story is for. 
> 
> So we pick up at page 190, go till page 210, then there is another skip until page 278. Once more, we miss seeing Charls, but that puts us right to the Kingsmeet, and from there on out there aren't any more time skips!

Laurent had thought, once upon a time, that he understood Jokaste.  He could grasp her motivations, comprehend her decisions, even accept her rationalizations.  Upon coming to learn Damen as well as he had, Laurent knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’d made the wrong choice.  But still, he did not begrudge her the gamble she’d taken.

 

In the time between when they’d spoken of her at the inn and when they saw her at the fort, Laurent had spared little thought for Jokaste.  Her part had been played, she had made an irreversible mistake and her fate was no concern of Laurent’s.

 

It was enough for him to have bested Govart, formed an uneasy alliance with Akielos, ridden half the length of the country, and managed not to fall back into Damen’s bed along the way.

 

She was a piece on the board that he hadn’t accounted for, and Laurent was beginning to comprehend how fatal an error it might turn out to be.

 

There wasn’t much that Laurent would willingly derail his carefully constructed plans for.  Damen’s son was one of the few things that merited that much worth.

 

And here, Laurent’s ability to understand Jokaste’s decisions ended.  She’d given her child into the Regent’s care.  She was not the first woman to have done so, but from that moment on, she was soulless in Laurent’s eyes.  He tried to remind himself that Jokaste had no way of knowing exactly what the Regent liked to do to young boys, but it did nothing to cool his disgust.

 

The Regent was a cold, cruel man.  He had unspeakable lusts, and a long memory that would allow him to hold onto a grudge for many years.  Long enough for Damen’s son to suit his tastes.  Long enough for him to take the sweetest pleasure in using the boy for revenge.  Laurent fought the urge to vomit.

 

He could not allow Damen’s child to face what he had.  It was unthinkable.  Whatever else happened going forward, he would protect Damen’s son from that fate - and with that realization came another that pierced him to the core.

 

_ Damen meant more to him than his revenge _ .

 

It was all Laurent had ever had, since Auguste’s death.  First the revenge he swore against Damen, then revenge against his uncle.  He’d been hoarding these promises to himself, keeping them locked away inside of himself as the fuel to continue on when he felt he had nothing else to live for.  But if it came right down to it, if he was out matched, out maneuvered, if there was no other option, Damen was worth more than every horror that had been inflicted upon Laurent.  He would have suffered them all unanswered, if it meant seeing Damen safe.

 

The thought terrified him.

 

Against his will, he found himself in Damen’s rooms, offering what comfort he could.  He’d thought there wouldn’t be anything to say, despite feeling that the world had just dropped out from under him, but somehow Damen always drew him out.

 

The fact that they ended their discussion on the bed did not upset him.  The fact that it turned, as every meaningful aspect of Laurent’s life always seemed to do, to the Regent,  _ did _ upset him.  He didn’t like thinking about it, detested talking about it, even in vague terms.  But Damen was so infuriatingly noble, so generous, that Laurent found himself explaining things that Damen had not demanded explanation for.

 

How he’d never been kissed on the mouth before the night they’d spent together; how much he’d liked it.

 

How it had been a long time - years - since he’d laid with anyone.  Since he’d grown too old for the Regent to fuck.  That part he did not say out loud.

 

How there had only ever been one other person to have Laurent the way Damen had.

 

He felt laid bare, terribly vulnerable.  Damen did not know the whole truth, but that did not stop his words from striking something within him that Laurent thought had died long ago.

 

_ It wasn’t right.  You were just a boy.  You didn’t deserve what happened to you _ .

 

He couldn’t possibly know just what those words meant to Laurent.  How he’d longed with everything in him to hear them.  How even now they broke his heart.   _ I think, if I gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly _ , Damen had said.  Laurent didn’t recall giving his heart to Damen, and yet there he was, trying to repair it from cuts he couldn’t comprehend.

 

Laurent didn’t just want a political alliance with Damen.  He didn’t want them to be impersonal partners, sharing their course because they shared the same endgame.  He wanted everything.  He wanted every bit of Damen, however he could have him.

 

When finally the words died and actions took their stead, Laurent would have let Damen fuck him dry.  He’d offered it, begged for it, anything to  _ feel _ Damen, be filled by him -  But of course, Damen would never hurt him that way.  It was unthinkable for him.  He  _ cherished _ Laurent.  He worshipped him with his body, brought their pleasure together.

 

Laurent came calling Damen’s name, not a single doubt as to who the man was that he’d lost his heart to.

 

***

 

Laurent knew from the moment he stepped into the Kingsmeet, his fate was sealed.  There had been some vague hopes of success, a distant chance that the luck that seemed to follow Damen might bouey them through - but those hopes all slid away like so much smoke when the Regent first spoke.  He was too confident, too relaxed in the way he strolled around them as he whispered poison.

 

The way he spoke of Nicaise made Laurent’s blood boil.  But there was nothing he could do in revenge for Nicaise.  Nothing Laurent could do at all, here on the sacred grounds of the Kingsmeet.  Nothing Damen could do, either.  That was the point.  He would not approve of the decision Laurent had made, would, in fact, protest it so violently that only the unbreakable laws of this place would prevent him from cutting down the Regent where he stood when all was revealed.

 

It was supposed to be a simple exchange.  Laurent for the boy.  He no longer suspected the child to be Damen’s son - he’d come to his own terms with Jokaste’s deceptions - but the fact that Damen saw the child as his family and would not make a move against the Regent until he was safe, was enough for Laurent to have made the decision.  He’d promised.  He’d sworn that he would not let his uncle hurt Damen.  He would do everything in his power to keep that vow.

 

Which was why he tried to get Damen to leave with him as soon as he realized that the Regent had no intention of making the exchange.  Getting Laurent for the Akielon heir wasn’t good enough for the Regent any more, and it was painfully obvious that he had a plan to sweep the board.  He planned to get it all.

 

“Laurent is going to get down on his knees and beg me to take him.  Aren’t you, Laurent?”

 

It was something out of a nightmare, far more terrible than Laurent could have ever imagined.  He remembered those words he’d spoke to his uncle years before.

 

_ I would destroy myself and and anyone around me before ever kneeling for you again.  There will never be anything that could make me. _

 

He had been so certain in that conviction.  But then, Laurent had been utterly alone.  Nothing in his life would have been worth that degradation.  Now, there was Damen.

 

Foolish, innocent Damen who refused to leave no matter how fervently Laurent pleaded with him.

 

Damen, who had no idea the breed of beast standing in front of him, sweetly crooning the method of their destruction.  Spilling Laurent’s deepest shame to provoke a reaction.  Because he’d seen Damen’s feeling for Laurent, knew the type of man he was, counted on Damen not being able to bear the hideous truth.

 

“-who can resist when a boy with a face like that asks you to stay with him?  He was so lonely after his brother died.”

 

Laurent could see realization stealing over Damen’s face, going first pale and then as red as Laurent’s own.  Laurent wanted to scream that he hadn’t  _ wanted _ his uncle’s sick brand of company.  That he’d been so terrified, too innocent to realize what web of depravity the Regent was pulling him into.  How  _ weak _ he’d been.

 

Damen… Damen might understand.  Damen might not look at him in revulsion for the mistakes he’d made as a child.

 

The Regent’s voice became high and pleading, mocking the way Laurent’s had been all those years ago.  “ _ Uncle, don’t leave me alone-” _

 

Damen exploded into action before the ugly imitation could even be completed.  He moved with impossible speed, the ring of steel in the air as sharp as the blade itself.  The guards were a blur of motion trying to pull him back, trying to stop his murderous rage.

 

One fell before him, then half a dozen.  The guards remaining upright threw themselves on him rather than before him, trying to haul him back.  The Regent’s look of alarm turned smug, expecting Damen to fall to the strength of the eight men dragging him down.  It morphed back into fear when Damen just. kept. coming.  He looked like some unholy god of vengeance, spattered in blood and immeasurably strong in his rage.

 

A terrible blow to his head finally made Damen stumble.  His body had reached the end of its ability.  Another crushing blow to his head finally brought him to his knees.

 

Laurent only dimly heard the proclamations of the guards.  His every focus was on Damen’s words.  Were they the last ones he would ever hear Damen say?

 

“I’m going to kill you.  The moment you laid your hands on him, you were dead.  I will be the last thing that you see.  You will go to the ground with my blade in your flesh.”

 

They were the sweetest declarations of love that Laurent could have ever conceived of.  If they  _ were _ the last words he ever heard Damen speak, they would be enough.  They would carry him through what had to be done next.  He would hear them over and over again in his mind through every indignity to follow, right up to the moment that his eyes closed for the last time.  And maybe, if the plans that Laurent had set in motion before they’d come proved successful, Damen might someday follow through on that promise.  He wanted to believe that Damen would be the one to avenge him.  There was a comfort in that.

 

“Stop.”  Laurent let himself fall into a place he hadn’t been in a long time.  His mind went quiet, his face blank.  Now, all there was left to do was endure.  Damen was worth this.  Damen was worth everything.  Laurent surrendered himself to his submission.  “It’s me you want.  It’s me you want, not him.”

 

“I don’t want you, Laurent.  You are a nuisance.  A minor inconvenience that I will clear from my path without much thought.”

 

Once, the words would have hurt Laurent.  They would have crushed him.  Sent him crawling into his uncle’s bed to seek approval, to seek validation, the only way he knew how.  Perhaps it spoke of how far Damen’s love had brought him that Laurent knew the words did not matter.  His uncle wanted him, all the same.  But what followed would not change, despite how far he’d come.  

 

Laurent ignored the way Damen said his name.  A plea.  “I’ll come with you to Ios.  I’ll let you have your trial.  Just let him-”  His throat felt thick for a moment, too thick to go on.  He forced himself to continue.  “Let him live.  Let him walk out of here whole and alive.  Take me.”  He spared no look for Damen.  He feared that he would crumble if he saw the desolation in those dark eyes-

 

The Regent seemed to consider for a moment, but Laurent knew what was coming before he spoke.  He fell even more deeply into the subservient survivor he’d been all those years ago.

 

“ _ Beg _ .”

 

It was thoughtless.  As soon as the guard holding him let go, Laurent went forward.  One step, two, then three.  He was directly before his uncle.  The vow he’d made so long ago was sand beneath his feet.  Some things were more important.   _ Damen _ was more important.  Laurent dropped to his knees.

 

“Please.  Please, uncle.  I was wrong to defy you.  I deserve punishment.  Please.”  He remembered how much those words had pleased the Regent before.  How often Laurent had been forced to say them.  He knew these steps well, like a dance he could slip into effortlessly, despite not having practiced it in years.

 

“You see, Laurent.  I am a reasonable man.  When you are properly penitent, I am merciful.”

 

“Yes, uncle.”  It was a meaningless parrot, words that needed to be said, words that would please.  “Thank you, uncle.”  He longed for one last look at Damen, but didn’t dare.  The man who could look upon the face of one who loved him, cherished him, was gone.  In his place stood the empty husk that could perform any task, no matter how repugnant, for his uncle’s approval.

 

“Come, nephew,” the Regent commanded.  Laurent followed him without a word.  Without a look back.  He dimly heard Damen’s voice behind him and shut it out.  Damen had been a beautiful dream, but now that dream was done.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we follow the events that happen after the Kingsmeet, but from Laurent's POV. It runs from page 292 to 295, which is about twenty four hours worth of time that passes.

Laurent allowed himself a moment to see what was coming in the next few days.  Damen would be released by the Kingsmeet guards at dawn.  By then, Laurent would be in Ios.  He expected no reprieve before the trial began.  He would face the Regent and Kastor’s mock justice, perhaps dragged out over several days, before he was finally executed.  What would happen to him at night between those days did not bear thinking on.

 

He knew that his men would not be pleased when Damen returned to camp without him.  He expected Jord, in particular, would have strong words to say.  Laurent only hoped that Damen would keep hot headed Nikandros from taking Jord’s concern as offense.  

 

It would take all of them to keep Damen from storming the palace to rescue Laurent, but he was sure that they would accomplish it.  There was nothing to be gained from a frontal assault except death.  Even Damen would be able to see that, once his outrage faded.  They would need to regroup, gather their forces, make a plan before marching on Ios.  It would take a fortnight, at barest minimum.  Laurent’s head would be mounted on a pike outside the castle walls long before then.  He only hoped that the sight of it wouldn’t provoke Damen into a blunder.

 

If he could control himself, he could take the capital.  With the plans Laurent had set in motion, Damen would have Loyse’s testimony on his behalf.  He could depose his brother, his forces could overthrow the Regent’s, and Damen would be able to keep his promise.  He would kill the Regent himself, with no remorse.

 

Laurent only wished he would be there to see it.  

 

He wondered if it would be possible to provoke one of the guards to kill him, if things got too bad.  He’d known, at Charcy, it would be easy to drive Govart into a killing rage, but the Regent was far too controlled for that kind of recklessness.  Still, his uncle could not watch him every moment of the day, and he knew that Kastor’s guards would have no love for him.  It might be an escape, if he needed it.

 

And he would be gutted by a bastard’s treasonous soldiers, left to bleed out in a dank cell.  It was not a glamorous death.  There was no honor in it, no dignity.

 

But Laurant did not have dignity.  The moment he’d allowed himself to reflect passed, and Laurent was himself again, at least, the version of himself he’d been under his uncle’s care.  It seemed, that despite how far he’d come since then, this truly was his place.

 

Laurent started to take the seat across from the Regent in the carriage, but he was directed to the floor instead with a cold smile and a snap of fingers.  Laurent heeled like a dog, sitting instead on the floor of the carriage at his uncle’s feet.  The Regent reached out and caressed Laurent’s hair, rubbing the golden strands between his fingers.  Laurent held himself very still.

 

“Such a shame,” the Regent murmured, sounding almost truly regretful.  “If only you could have stayed young and sweet.”  Laurent said nothing.  “You see now, don’t you, that this is where you’ve always belonged?”

 

“Yes, uncle.”

 

“All those useless fights.  And it had to take your pending execution for you to accept your place.”  He shook his head.  “I would have kept you, if you hadn’t turned so frigid.  Not in my bed, of course, you’re beyond your use there, but I’ve always loved your mouth, Laurent.”  He reached out, curling his fingers around Laurent’s jaw and letting his thumb trail over Laurent’s lips.  He paused for a moment, then thrust it between them and pressed down on Laurent’s tongue.  “You could have continued pleasing me.  I would have indulged you.  Pampered you.”

 

The pressure became painful, the Regent’s nail digging into Laurent’s tongue brutally.  Still, Laurent did not struggle.  “Instead, you wasted yourself on bitterness.  Do you remember what you said to me, the last time I touched you?”

 

Apparently that exchange hadn’t been burned into just Laurent’s mind.  The Regent waited for an answer, so Laurent gave the barest of nods.

 

“You have already broken that vow, haven’t you, nephew?”  A slow, insidious smile curled his lips.  “I see no reason not to see to the rest of it, do you?  After all, there won’t be much chance once we are in the capital.  The Akielons might be savages, but they wouldn’t understand our…  _ special _ relationship.  I can’t have you tarnish my reputation any more than you already have.”

 

He pushed his thumb further into Laurent’s mouth, edging towards the back of his throat, then removed it and began unlacing his breeches.

 

Against his will, Laurent’s mind turned to Damen again.  He didn’t want to think of Damen, didn’t want anything to do with Damen connected to the Regent, especially not like this.  But it was impossible not to think of the last time he’d done this.  How much he’d wanted to give this pleasure to Damen.  How gentle Damen had been with him, how reverent the touch of his hand in Laurent’s hair had been.  How breathless and glowing he’d been after.  How sweetly he’d whispered in Laurent’s ear.

 

“Don’t make me wait,” the Regent demanded harshly.  Laurent blanked his mind, opened his mouth, and lowered it to his uncle’s cock.

 

***

 

Laurent arrived at Damen’s palace with come on his face that he was not allowed to wipe off.  The soldiers sneered at him.  Laurent knew that he should feel shame and humiliation.  Instead, he felt nothing.  Nothing at all.  If he wasn’t going to be tormented and then executed in a few days, that might have concerned him.

 

He was taken directly to a cell deep beneath the palace.  It was not Kastor’s men who stood guard over him, but the Regent’s.  Laurent’s hope of provoking one of them into killing him withered.  They would be under strict orders that Laurent be kept alive.  It would be nearly impossible to push them beyond the fear of the Regent’s retribution.

 

No, he would be forced to face all that was coming to him.

 

Once the heavy cell door closed behind him, Laurent finally wiped the come off his face.  It was such a minor display of defiance that the Regent only smiled indulgently.

 

“The treacherous prince is expected to stand trial tomorrow.  If anything were to prevent this, I would be most displeased.”

 

“Your Majesty is generous to allow him to face a trial with dignity.  It is more than he deserves.”  One of the guards spat at Laurent’s feet.  The Regent cocked his head.

 

“I never said he had to arrive with dignity.  Only that he had to arrive.” 

 

Smiles spread across the guard’s faces.  One by one they turned from the regent to leer at Laurent.  “But remember, he is to walk to his trial in the morning, so perhaps it is best that this remains a private soiree?  And of course, I expect no marks on him that would convince our Akielon hosts that we are as savage as they.”

 

“Yes, your Majesty.  We understand.  It is a privilege to serve you.” 

 

The Regent let the soldier drop to one knee and kiss his ring, then smirked at Laurent and swept from the dungeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one of my lovely regular readers requested that I write the scene where Damen reveals who he is to Laurent, and I'm going to do it! There were a ton of awesome bits in the first half of KR that I didn't include because just writing short individual little scenes would have been way too choppy. But if anyone else has specific scenes that you wanted to see inside Laurent's head for, let me know and I'll give them a shot if I can. The drabbles will be included at the end of the story (which probably has 2 or 3 chapters left now).
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to come say hi, my Tumblr is ArabellaFaith : D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, here we are! This chapter takes is right through the end of Kings Rising and beyond. There will be one chapter after this, then the drabbles. Enjoy!

No light infiltrated the underground cell to wake Laurent, but he still rose with the sun.  Despite everything, he had managed to catch a scant few restless hours of sleep.  Pain and exhaustion took their toll, even under unendurable circumstances.

 

It was a different guard that opened the bars of Laurent’s cell than the ones who had been with him the night before, for which Laurent was grateful.  All three of them had been replaced.  Laurent wondered if they would be off sleeping until their next shift, or if they would be at the trial.

 

He dismissed the thought as unimportant.  He didn’t care.  There was nothing that mattered, now.

 

“Good morning, nephew,” the Regent greeted as Laurent was led into an open, vaulted room.  “I trust that you had a… pleasant night?”

 

_ Loosen up, you frigid bitch!  Fuck, I can’t even get it in, he’s so tight.  Go get me something to slick my dick with so that I can get him opened up- _

 

Laurent pushed the memory aside and said nothing.

 

“I must confess I find myself disappointed that you flashed your fangs at my men.  Here I thought you had truly learned your lesson.”

 

_ C’mere, slut.  Don’t think we didn’t see what was on your face when you came in.  Show me how talented that vicious tongue of yours is. _

 

Laurent had not given warning.  He did not think the bastard deserved it.  Instead, he had waited until the cock was shoved in his mouth and then bitten down as hard as he could.  There had been some small satisfaction in the taste of blood washing away the taste of salt and semen.

 

He’d been punished for it, of course, but it had meant one less cock in him that night.  Laurent did not regret it.

 

“I have always been a picky eater, uncle,” Laurent said.  His voice was hoarse from holding back screams and dehydration.

 

“True,” the Regent agreed, clearly amused.  “Perhaps I can provide you something more to your liking?”

 

“I’m afraid my knees are already sore from accepting your generosity yesterday.”

 

The smile fell.  “Indeed?  How unfortunate.  Guard, I don’t think these chains will be sufficient to hold my nephew for the proceedings.  We wouldn’t want him somehow getting free and doing something reckless that might endanger our truce with the Akielons.  Shackle him in irons.”  He waited until the guard he’d spoken to left to retrieve them before stepping close enough to Laurent to whisper in his ear.  “How long do you think it will be until you’re down on those sore knees before the entire Akielon court?   I doubt my men were easy on you last night.  I don’t think you’ll even make to noon before you’re groveling at my feet for the whole world to see.”

 

Laurent said nothing.  Before, he might have made a cutting remark about his uncle’s proclivities, would have likely sworn never to disgrace himself so.  But he knew that was not the case.  Already, he could see the guard returning with heavy iron shackles.  Laurent’s strength was waning.  His legs only just didn’t shake with the effort of holding himself upright.  Once the shackles were added, it would be a Herculean feat.  But this was Damen’s court, no matter what imposters sat on the throne.  He would do what he could to stand in the place that Damen had once stood as a man, with all the dignity he could manage.

 

The shackles were locked into place, Laurent’s arms held behind his back.  The muscles in his shoulders, already aching from the abuse they’d received the night before, practically screamed in pain.  But Laurent stayed upright.  He walked into the court on his own power, and faced the mockery of a trial meant to tarnish his name, strip him of humanity, and end his life.

 

He met their questions head on, with no artifice or deceit.  None was needed.  The queries were worded to extract the most damning answers from him, and even if Laurent had explained himself in a way that pointed out the true villain, no one would listen.  He was nearing the end of his endurance, fighting with every last ounce of power that he had to remain upright, to show no fear…

 

And then Damen was brought in.

 

***

 

It should not have surprised Laurent, that Damen faced yet another set of insurmountable odds and still managed to turn the tide.  Admittedly, Guion’s betrayal would have been the end of that if Loyse had not heeded Laurent’s request from weeks before to step forward.  But even that would only have saved Damen.  It would not have cleared Laurent’s name.  No, it was Damen and Damen alone who realized the secret Pashal had been carrying and got him to speak his piece.

 

The shackles coming off of him made it feel as though Laurent had been dragged under water and was suddenly buoyed to the surface.  When the soldier stepped forward with his sword held out, Laurent took it, and his arms did not shake.  There was strength left in them yet.  Strength enough for this.

 

He waited until the Regent’s catamite was removed from the hall before walking forward.  It was almost absurd, to see the Regent on his knees at Laurent’s feet.  But no one was laughing.  When Laurent spoke to his uncle, it was soft, so that only Damen, standing - always - at Laurent’s side, and the Regent heard him.

 

“For my father.  For Auguste, because you are where the guilt of his death truly lies.  For Ni-” Laurent’s voice broke, but he forced himself to continue.  “For Nicaise.  For Aimeric.  For every other boy you took to your bed.  For my horse.  For Damianos and all the suffering you orchestrated for him to endure.”  He paused, thinking of every vile thing the Regent had ever done to him, things he daren’t speak out loud, things that for a long time, he thought he had deserved.  No longer.  “And for me.  For every single touch, every lie, every hurt you’ve ever caused me.”

 

The Regent opened his mouth to speak, but Laurent did not give him the chance.  He would never have to hear another of his uncle’s poison words again.  He pushed the sword forward.  There was a slight resistance, then the sharp blade slid home.

 

One clean stroke, through the heart.  It was more than the Regent deserved.  But it was done.  Finally, finally, it was done.

 

***

 

_ It was one kingdom, once _ .

 

That was the truth, though Laurent could not understand what had possessed him to speak it out loud.  It was not that he doubted Damen’s loyalty to him - how could he, now? - but that it seemed presumptious, even beyond the alliances they’d made, and the promises that were implied.

 

Pashal was attending Damen’s wound.  Laurent know that it was not life threatening, but even the great King Damianos would need some time to recover.  A few days bedrest, at the very least, to keep the stitches from tearing out.  Damen would have a new scar, the match to the one Auguste had given him.  There was some strange, twisted symmetry to that.

 

The quiet was Laurent’s worst enemy.  In the chaos, when there was work to be done, men to lead, he could forget the terrible truths he’d learned, and the things that Damen now knew about his past.  But when the day ended and Laurent was led to a bedroom, he could not sleep, despite his exhaustion.  

 

Thoughts circled his mind uselessly.  Uncertainty gripped him, clawing at his insides.  He considered seeking out Pashal and asking for a sleeping drought.  He was certain that the physician had given Damen one, or the great lout would already have torn his stitches rising and making his way to wherever Laurent was.

 

If he still wanted to be where Laurent was.

 

Which he did.  Of course he did.  He’d given Laurent no reason to doubt him, had been nothing but loyal and steadfast.  But so much had a way of creeping up on you, once the dust settled.  Once the heat of battle passed and you realized the ruins you were left with.  And that’s all Laurent was, after all.  Ruins. 

 

But Damen did not see him that way.  He did not hold him accountable for what had been done to him as a child.  He had sworn to kill the Regent for it, and even though Laurent had taken that honor from him, the sentiment was the same.  But then, seeking the Regent’s death for what he had done did not clear Laurent’s corruption.

 

And what Damen had learned of had been from years ago.  Not just a few nights previous.

 

Sleep eluded Laurent for most of the night, and when it did come, it was rife with dreams that he would rather have forgotten.

 

***

 

Pashal must have stopped dosing Damen with a sedative, because by the third day of Laurent not going to him, Damen rose and found Laurent himself.

 

Kastor’s troops were being rooted out and made to face justice.  All the men who had been loyal to the Regent had been executed.  Including, Laurent remembered with grim satisfaction, the guards who had been assigned to him the night he’d arrived at the palace.  Things were well on their way to peace and order.

 

Laurent was sitting behind a massive desk in the rooms he’d been assigned, writing letters to Vask and Patras.  When he heard the knock on his door, he did not even look up.

 

“Enter.”   He had guards that he was mostly convinced were loyal to him posted outside, so he doubted that they would let anyone with ill intentions towards him inside, but there was still the dagger he now kept strapped to the inside of his forearm at all times, if nothing else.  He did not look up until a shadow fell across him, larger than any one man had a right to be.

 

“Damen,” he breathed.  It felt as though he’d somehow forgotten what it was like to be in the man’s presence, to have those wide, dark eyes focused solely on him.  But he regained his composure in a flash and straightened.  “Damianos.”  That still sounded too personal, too presumptuous.  “King Damianos.”

 

Damen’s lips twitched into a smile.  “Prince Laurent,” he greeted.  “Or would you rather ‘Our Brother of Vere,’ since you seem in such a formal mood?”  His smile widened when Laurent scowled at him.

 

“A simple  _ your Majesty _ will suffice for casual conversations.”

 

Damen laughed and started to reach out towards Laurent, pausing at whatever had flashed across Laurent’s face before he’d had a chance to control it.  He had no idea what he was feeling himself, so how in the hell could he possibly tell what Damen had seen there?  It made him feel weak.  Uncontrolled.

 

“Laurent-”

 

“You have officially been proclaimed King, I’m sure you are aware, but there is a coronation ceremony being planned for the end of the week.  My soldiers have secured the capital and continue to take out Kastor’s remaining forces, but I’m certain that your people will be more comfortable once my army has left the city.  I had planned for them to begin travelling North after your coronation.”

 

“Laurent.”

 

“I believe my Patran support will continue for one more campaign if I need extra forces to retake Vere, but with the council’s support that does not seem likely.  I can ride out with the army-”

 

“ _ Laurent _ .”  Damen stepped around the desk and dropped to his knees before Laurent, bringing them face to face.  The sight of it brought Laurent pleasure and disgust in equal measure.

 

“You-”

 

“I missed you.”  He took Laurent’s hand, pressing it against his face and leaning into the touch.  “When you didn’t come, I worried perhaps you had been injured as well, or that something had happened since last we spoke.”

 

“I am - fine.”  The words sounded strangled, even to his own ears.

 

“I missed you,” Damen repeated.  He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Laurent’s palm.  “I understand that you need to return to Vere and solidify your position, but I wish you would not leave so soon.  And I’m sure Torveld will continue giving you his aid, but you would not need to look to Patras, should the need arise.  You will have all the forces you require from Akielos.”

 

“You cannot promise that without speaking to your-”

 

“I can, and I just did.  I am King, remember?”

 

“Still-”

 

“Are you trying to push me away, Laurent?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you need space from me?  Time?  I know that the idea of trying to make things work between us might be overwhelming, but-”

 

“I am not a child who needs coddling,” Laurent snapped.  He hated that Damen could see right through him.  Hated that he had been doing exactly as Damen said, pushing him away - though not because the future was overwhelming him.  It was the past that ate away at him, robbing him of his composure, tearing down his hard won confidence.  “I killed your brother.”

 

The words fell heavy between them.  Damen’s face contorted in shock, his lips parting as a soft breath escaped them.  “And I killed yours.”

 

“Do you think that makes us even?  An eye for an eye?  You can look at me, fuck me, and see anything more than your brother’s killer?”

 

“You did.”

 

Laurent scoffed.  “I am not the standard of decency anyone should hold themselves to.”

 

“I think otherwise.”

 

“Then you are a fool.”

 

Damen sighed, rising slowly so that he did not release Laurent’s hand until the last possible moment.  “I will give you time.  I will even give you space, an entire country’s worth if you need it.  But I will not abandon you.  I will  _ never _ abandon you.”

 

“How can you-”  Laurent snapped his mouth shut, disgusted the the words had slipped out at all.  He felt weak, out of control.  Damen made him that way.

 

“How can I what?”

 

“Nothing.”  He turned away, hating himself all the more because he knew even that was a privilege.  With no other man would Laurent turn his back in the midst of a fight.  Damen was the only one he trusted enough.  “You said you would give me space.  I am requesting it now.  Get out.”

 

Damen paused behind him, and Laurent could practically  _ feel _ him raise his hand, wanting to touch Laurent but not willing to do so when it was not wanted.  Laurent felt like his heart was being torn in two.  “As you wish,” Damen murmured.  He pulled the door closed softly behind him, spoke a few words to the guards too muffled for Laurent to make out, then left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: if it seems like Laurent is being more harsh to Damen than he should be by this point, the next chapter will explain why a bit better. 
> 
> It seemed totally unrealistic to me to think that Laurent wouldnt have suffered some kind of abuse during the time he spent with his uncle, and I wrote it as I thought it would have happened - as heartbreaking as it was to do. And while outwardly, Laurent claims it doesnt matter, it really does. Its a major setback he needs to overcome, and they are going to have to face it together.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I lied. There's one more chapter after this and then the reveal scene. I hadn't realized just how long this discussion was between them. Anyways, enjoy!

Laurent stood in the entry to the throne room, remembering.  The blood had been scrubbed off the stone floor, but Laurent did not need to see the stain to know exactly where his uncle’s life had ended.  So much treachery, all ended with a single slide of the sword.  It seemed almost impossible that the man was dead, his body rotting on the city gates.  For so long, he had seemed beyond justice, beyond defeat, beyond even death itself.

 

But he had been a man of flesh and blood like any other, and now he was truly gone.  Laurent thought he should feel more relieved.  As if the pain that his uncle had caused should have fallen away as soon as the light had faded from his eyes.

 

It had not.  And now, perhaps more than ever, Laurent felt broken.  Perhaps it was because his shame was no longer a secret.  Damen knew.  Knew the whole, ugly truth, directly from the Regent’s mouth.  Laurent still hadn’t explained, hadn’t had the chance to say how skewed his uncle’s telling of the tale had been.  He wanted to scream that he had not wanted what had happened.  That yes, he had said the words, but he hadn’t meant them the way the Regent had made them sound.  He wanted to say that he’d been terrified, manipulated into  _ needing _ the Regent-  But the larger part of him never wanted to speak of it at all.  That part of him wanted to retreat from Damen and never face him, face those explanations, again.

 

“Majesty?”  A Veretian soldier that Laurent did not recognize entered the throne room from the other side, pausing when he saw Laurent.  He flinched, imperceptible to all but the most discerning eyes, and his hand automatically went to the dagger on his forearm.  The slip in his control, no matter how slight and unnoticeable it was to the soldier, angered Laurent.  It seemed that it wasn’t just Damen that elicited weakness in Laurent.  Had just a few unwelcome cocks undone all the progress he’d made since his adolescence?

 

“Leave me,” he snapped at the soldier.  The man looked frankly relieved and exited the room hastily the way he’d come.  Laurent let out a sigh and turned to leave as well.

 

Damen was standing in the hall behind him, watching him.  From the look on his face, Laurent had no doubt that he’d seen the exchange.

 

“Have you stooped to spying on me now?” Laurent snarled.  Damen did not even dignify the question with an answer.

 

“Do you still have reason to doubt the loyalty of the remaining Veretian soldiers?”

 

“I have reason to doubt the loyalty of everyone.”  Laurent made to walk past Damen, but stopped abruptly when Damen caught his arm.  Gently, Damen’s finger ran up the inside of Laurent’s forearm, along the length of the blade.

 

“This is new.”

 

Laurent did not reply.  He looked at where Damen was touching him, but made no move to pull his arm away.  He was almost ashamed at how much he was enjoying that soft touch, the warmth of Damen’s large, calloused hand on him.  “You were afraid-”

 

At that, Laurent did pull away.  “I was  _ not _ afraid!” 

 

“When the guard walked in.  You were afraid.  You were very careful not to let him see, but it was there.  For just a moment, I could see it on your face.  In the lines of your body.  Something happened-”

 

“You happened!” Laurent exploded.  He stalked further into the throne room then whirled on Damen, eyes flashing.  “You strip me bare!  You’ve  _ broken _ me!”

 

“Laurent, I never meant-”

 

“No, no you don’t ever mean to do any harm, do you?” Laurent sneered.  “Just like you didn’t mean to kill me the day you killed my brother, but make no mistake, that’s exactly what you did.  I died at Marlas, and the boy that was left behind became a plaything to a twisted monster.  I spent  _ years _ becoming impervious to it all.  Frigid.  Stone cold.  That was my armour.  That was how I survived.  All that I have is my control, my indifference, the fact that no one can hurt me.

 

“No one except  _ you _ .  You see it all, every weakness, every flaw, even my deepest, darkest shame.  I am  _ naked _ before you, every moment.  Weak, powerless, vulnerable.  Things I swore I would never be again.  And it’s all- all your f- fault-”  Somewhere along the way, tears had welled up in Laurent’s eyes.  His chest was heaving, body trembling, blinking hard to keep those damned tears from falling.  He could barely see Damen now, vision blurred, but he had no doubt he was still staring at Laurent in open mouthed shock.

 

The blurry visage of Damen took a step closer, and Laurent fell to his knees, holding one hand out to ward him off.  “Don’t.  I don’t want your fucking pity.”

 

Damen didn’t stop.  He went to his knees beside Laurent and drew him into his arms.  Laurent only had the strength to remain stiff for half a moment, then he melted into the embrace, truly sobbing now, soaking the shoulder of Damen’s chiton and unable to care.

 

“I didn’t want it,” he said between hitching breaths, the words spewing out from him before he could think, before he could stop them.  “I swear to you - I didn’t want any of it!  I needed - I needed - I was so afraid.  I thought - and then he was there, offering to stay by me, but for a price.  I would have done anything - I  _ did _ do anything.  But I  _ hated _ it.  I hated him, and I loved him, and I hated myself.  I hated you.  And now I can’t - and I still hate - I hate everything I have been made into-”

 

Damen’s arms were impossibly tight around him. It should have felt suffocating.  Instead, Laurent felt safe.  So safe.  He craved that so much, needed it more than air, and it disgusted him.  His tears began to slow, his breaths evening, and he realized Damen was speaking.  The low, rumbled words were rushing out right next to his ear.

 

“-sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I never wanted to hurt you.  I’m sorry I left you all alone, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.  I’m sorry you had to live that way.  I’m sorry you ever felt even a single moment of fear, of pain.  I’m sorry I remind you of that.  I’m sorry I make you feel weak.  You are the strongest man I know, the best man I know.  I never want you to feel that way; tell me what I can do to fix it, how I can  _ fix _ this.  I’m sorry - I’m so sorry-”

 

He buried his face against Laurent’s neck, and it was wet.  Laurent shuddered.  He wanted… he wanted…

 

“I- I’m going to tell you, Damianos.  I’m going to tell you everything.  And if, by the time I am done, you are still here, then we will agree to put it aside.  We will do our best to forget that any of it ever happened, and maybe… maybe… we can find a way past it.”

 

“Whatever you want, Laurent.  Whatever you need.”  Damen pulled back and shamelessly wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand.  Laurent opened his mouth to start, but Damen put a finger to his lips.

 

“We haven’t even started and already you are interrupting?  This is not a good omen.”  The words were vaguely muffled behind the finger.  Damen gave a sheepish smile.

 

“I’m not interrupting.  I won’t interrupt at all, not a single time once you get started.  But - perhaps we can take this elsewhere?  The stone beneath us is hardly comfortable.”

 

Laurent looked down and realized he was right.  Already, his legs were aching.  “You didn’t whine this much in Vere.”  He rose despite his sarcastic remark, and Damen took his hand.

 

“I suppose one benefit of the garish and ugly rugs adorning every inch of the floor in your palace is that they cushion the occupants.”

 

“I’ll have you know that some of those rugs were woven by the finest artisans in Vere.”

 

“They are still painful to the eyes.”

 

Laurent smirked, glad that their banter was distracting him from the feeling that he was walking to his doom.  “Yes,” he finally agreed.  “They are.”  Damen laughed and kissed the top of Laurent’s head.

 

At the end of the next hall, Damen spoke to the guards, dismissing them from the door but requesting they stay in the corridor.  They obeyed wordlessly.  The door stood between them and absolute privacy, and then they were through it.  Alone.

 

Damen poured a glass of water for Laurent and wine for himself, then sat the goblets on the low table by the fire.  Laurent drank deeply, settling into one of the chairs there.  Damen sat back and watched him, face neutral.  Waiting.

 

“Not a single interruption?”

 

Damen put his hand over his mouth and crossed his heart with the other one.  Laurent rolled his eyes, his lips quirked ever so slightly into what might have been an indulgent smile. He sighed deeply, then began.

 

“I knew that I would never forget Malas..”

 

***

 

He told Damen everything.  All of it, to the very best of his memory.  He did not leave out the things that were hard to tell, nor the things that he knew would wound Damen.  He told him about the Regent’s insidious brand of love, and how quickly it could be withdrawn.  He told him about his nightmares, in which Damen was a terrifying demon wielding a fiery sword.  About the times the Regent had dosed him with the Akielon pleasure drug and how he learned never to trust a glass of wine.  He told him about the threats of sending Laurent to the border, and Laurent’s efforts to prevent it.  About the vows Laurent had made for revenge.

 

He even told Damen about the shameful, terrible feelings of jealousy when his uncle had turned his attention to others.  Through it all, Damen kept his word and said nothing.  Laurent tried not to watch his face, didn’t want to see revulsion or pity or anger there.  It wasn’t until he got to the part where the Regent had tried to order Laurent to his knees and Laurent had sworn he never would again, that his eyes strayed up.

 

Damen was looking at him with something like pride, and it made Laurent squirm.  After all, it wasn’t a vow he’d kept.

 

He forged ahead, eyes carefully down once more.  He spoke of forming the Princes Guard, of the battles he won against his uncle and the ones he lost.  Then he told of Damen’s arrival in Vere.  Of how furious he had been, how much he had wanted to hurt Damen.  The plans he made, and how Damen became an integral part of them.

 

When he arrived at the Kingsmeet, his words dried up.  He didn’t know how to go forward, despite all he’d confessed already.

 

“And after you left with him?” Damen prompted, the first he’d spoken in what seemed like hours.  Laurent shrugged.  It was a weak, pathetic gesture.  “Did he-”

 

“Do you really want to know?”  

 

“Do you want to tell me?” Damen countered.

 

“No.”  He sighed.  “But I want there to be no secrets between us.  He- he didn’t rape me.  I’m overripe for his taste, no matter how much I’d angered him.  He just- he wanted my mouth.  I’m sure it was more about humiliation than lust.  I’d defied him and denied him, and he wanted to prove that he’d truly broken me.  I did as he wished.”  He did not add that the Regent had come on his face and forced Laurent to walk through Damen’s palace like that.  He was sure there were enough guards that had seen him who could tell Damen that part if he really wanted to know.

 

“And- and after?”  Damen’s fists were clenched, and he had to force the words out through gritted teeth.  Laurent wondered, feeling vaguely ill, how much greater his anger would become when he heard the next part.

 

“I was put in the dungeon here to await my mockery of a trial.”

 

“The guards, Laurent.  Something happened to make you fear them.”

 

“I don’t-” Laurent snapped, before he remembered his promise to remain honest with Damen.  “I am not afraid of the soldiers that remain here.  Not- not quite.  I am… uncomfortable, in the presence of those whose loyalty I cannot be sure of.  But as you pointed out, I carry a blade with me at all times, and we both know that I am not helpless.  Not by a long shot.  I wouldn’t let any of them hurt me.”

 

“You can protect yourself,” Damen agreed.  “When you are not shackled and outnumbered.  As you were.”

 

Somehow, that seemed to lessen the shame of it a little.  “As I was.  There were two of them.  Well,” he smirked coldly.  “There had been three at first, but one of them was rendered unable to perform after he made the unfortunate mistake of trying to repeat my uncle’s punishment.”  The smirk fell away.  “The other two made no such error.”

 

“And they-”

 

“Yes.”  There was a crack, and the arm of the chair Damen was sitting in came away in his hand.  Laurent was vaguely impressed to see it had already been splintered down to practically nothing.

 

“They are dead, Damen.”  Laurent had seen to it.  Personally.

 

“It seems that I never get to kill anyone for you.”

 

“I suppose I did make you break your vow to my uncle, didn’t I?”

 

“The right to take his life was yours.  I do not begrudge you it.”  He paused, then asked, “have you seen Pashal?”

 

“Driving a sword through my uncle was hardly injurious enough to require a physician.”

 

“No, I meant for-”

 

“I know what you meant for.  No, I did not go.”  Damen began to protest, but Laurent cut him off with a wave of his hand.  “It was not necessary.  They were forced to use oil, as apparently I was too frigid to get the job done otherwise.  Which was ironic, because I’ve been fucked dry before, and I was even smaller then.  You’d think after having been with you, they wouldn’t have had such trouble.  After all, they were not nearly as well en-”  Laurent trailed off, realizing that Damen had gone ghostly pale.   _ Oh. _  “Damen.”

 

Damen did not respond, so Laurent reached across the space between them and placed his hand lightly on Damen’s thigh.  Damen flinched.  Laurent removed his hand.

 

“It was not the same.  That was in poor taste.  I… I apologize.  I just meant to say that I was not lastingly injured.  I knew which salve to use to ease the pain, and in another few days I will be completely recovered.”

 

“You - you are still in pain?”  Damen looked as though  _ he  _ was the one in pain.

 

“Nothing I can’t handle.  It is over, they are all dead.  All of the men who hurt me are dead, Damen.   A fact which  _ you _ made possible.  I am fine.  Or I will be, very shortly.”

 

“I wish I had known.”

 

“Before I had them executed?  Torture is hardly your style, despite how much I’ve worn off on you.”

 

“No, before.  Before - at Fontain.”

 

Now came the part Laurent had feared.  The regret.  Damen knew the extent of just how tainted the man he’d taken to his bed was.  “You would not have fucked me.”

 

“No,” Damen agreed.  “I knew you were inexperienced, despite your claim otherwise, but it was obvious that you did know  _ some _ .  I did not put the pieces together.  It was right in front of me, and I did not see it.  The fact that  _ that _ is where you gained your knowledge from-”

 

“You do not need to remind me of how repulsive my history is,” Laurent said sharply.

 

“I know that.  But I wish I would have…”  He shook his head.

 

“It is not a mistake that you need to repeat.  I can be gone by the time I would be healed enough to have sex.  Assuming, from this conversation, you would find it far too distasteful to fuck me while I’m still raw from another man’s cock.”

 

“ _ Laurent! _ ”

 

Laurent half expected the back of Damen’s hand to meet his face at a painful speed.  It was what the Regent would have done for such a slight.   _ I do not fear Damianos _ , Laurent reminded himself.  He did not.  Damen was not the Regent.  Even now, when he was obviously furious, he would not strike Laurent.

 

“I would not take you while it would cause you  _ any _ pain.  Whatever that pain may be from.  And I should not have taken you at the fort, not because I do not want to, or that I hold your past against you, but because you  _ deserved better _ .  I should have waited, until all this was done, until anyone who had ever touched you in a way you did not want was  _ dead _ .  Until I could have courted you, wooed you, known to be gentle with you, to reassure you-”

 

“I am not a child.”

 

“Of that I am aware.”  There was the slightest hint of amusement in Damen’s tone, and Laurent was grateful for it.

 

“Nor am I some blushing virgin who needs seduced.”

 

“Oh, Laurent.  You  _ were _ .”

 

“I have-”

 

“No one had ever made love to you before.  No one had ever given you pleasure you sought.  No one had ever felt the willing caress of your body.  You were a virgin, one who had suffered brutality, and I was not as careful as I ought to have been.  I should have-”

 

“It was not… bad.  That is to say, I enjoyed it.  Obviously.  But I was… comfortable, with you.  As comfortable as it was possible for me to be.  I wanted you, and I would not have waited.  There was always a chance that I might die, despite my careful planning, and I would not have wanted to face my death never having known a tender touch.  Never having known  _ your _ touch.”

 

“You do not regret it, then, despite the fact that I did not-”

 

“I do not regret it at all.”

 

“Even though it laid you bare to me?”

 

Laurent scoffed.  “I suspect that you could see through me long before you lay with me.  It wasn’t as though wringing my cock dry gave you supernatural insight into my mind.  That happened simply because you came to know me.  Because - because you care for me.”

 

“Love should not be painful.”

 

“But sometimes it is, just the same.  I do not wish you didn’t-” Laurent swallowed hard, “love me.  I wish that being loved by you did not make me so transparent to you.  I can hide nothing, and for a man who survived many years on his wit and secrets alone, that is distinctly unnerving.  You… you could crush me.”

 

Damen studied Laurent’s face for a moment, then slid off his chair and knelt at Laurent’s feet.   _ Again _ , Laurent thought.  Damen reached up and stroked his face.  His thumb feathered over Laurent’s lower lip, a strange parody of the way the Regent had caressed him less than a week ago.

 

“I would not.  I vow to you, Laurent, I will do everything in my power to see you safe, happy, and well cared for.  Never will any harm befall you that I can prevent.”  Damen’s hand dropped, and he took Laurent’s, twining their fingers.  “And if you cannot believe that, then believe that you could crush me just as easily as I could you.

 

“Loving someone is, perhaps, giving them the ability to hurt you.  But it is also trusting that they will not.”  He kissed the back of Laurent’s hand, then once again on the knuckle of his third finger, where a wedding band would traditionally be worn.  Laurent shivered.  “Do you trust me, Laurent?”

 

The silence in the room was absolute, as if the cicadas, the fire, even the distant water were all holding their breath, waiting for Laurent’s reply.

 

“Yes.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: I actually started this story before most of the side stories came out, so some of this may not be compliant with Summer Palace, Pet, etc. Don't hold it against me!

Laurent did not leave after the coronation with the rest of the army.  Nikandros and a contingent of Damen’s men accompanied them.  At Nikandros’ request, Pallas and Lazar went as well.  He complained at length about the outrageous way they acted, but eventually admitted that it would be good for the men from  _ both _ armies to see that fraternization between the two countries wasn’t only possible between its rulers.

 

The council returned as well, with Laurent making several new appointments.  Soon, he would cull the undesirables out of it, but first he would need to be absolutely sure in his position.  In the meantime, he could finalize peace talks with Damen, discuss the future of their countries, and adjust to the feeling of not having to look around every corner for an assassination attempt.

 

It would have been perfect.  Except that Damen had yet to fuck him again, and Laurent’s nerves were stretched beyond their limits.  His body was done healing, and while Damen’s wound was not yet gone, Laurent knew that was not what was holding him back.  Worse, Damen seemed to be following through with his threat.  He was actually trying to  _ court _ Laurent.

 

One morning, as they walked through the gardens, he tucked a flower behind Laurent’s ear.  The fact that Laurent had kept the damn thing and pressed it in a book was beside the point.  Then, he arranged for them to take dinner together in private at least twice a week.  And, to top it all off, he’d given Laurent a  _ horse _ .  A beautiful black gelding, as strong as it was fiery.

 

What. A. Bastard.

 

All that, and he refused to do any more than suck Laurent’s cock.  And he showed no interest in letting Laurent reciprocate, despite the fact that he ended all of their encounters tenting his chiton obscenely.

 

Laurent had had enough.  Damen claimed that Laurent’s past did not make him incapable or unwilling to fuck him.  Well, it was time to prove that.

 

The halls were practically deserted, though the sun had barely set.  It was yet another thing that Laurent suspected Damen did for him.  After dinner, the palace was only occupied by the most trusted guards and absolutely loyal staff.  Laurent dismissed the guard that had been standing at his door and marched to Damen’s.  Really, it was ridiculous that they even  _ had _ separate rooms.  Everyone knew that Damen had bedded him.

 

It was rude, but Laurent entered without knocking.  Damen whirled towards the door, already reaching for the sword hanging on his wall, then saw it was Laurent and relaxed.  Laurent closed the door behind him firmly.

 

“I want,” he said imperiously, “to fuck.”

 

Damen did a double take.

 

“Pardon?” he finally managed to say.  Laurent glared at him.

 

“I did not stutter.”

 

“Are you… unhappy with the way I have been courting you?”

 

“Yes!”  Damen’s face fell.  “No.”  Laurent sighed.  “While I appreciate your attempt at chivalry, it is unnecessary.  We have already slept together.  More than once, in case you need reminded.  I even sucked your-”

 

“I have not forgotten.”

 

“Then have you forgotten  _ how _ ?  Or perhaps, the location of my room?”

 

“Neither.”

 

“Then you lied about still having the desire to bed me?”

 

“ _ No _ .”  Damen ran a hand through his hair. He seemed unsure of himself for a moment, then sighed, resigned.  “You are aware that there are no more slaves in the palace?”

 

Laurent nodded slowly, then had a nauseating thought.  “You have not been-  If you think that I will sit by while you fuck-”

 

“No!  Will you cease in jumping to innane and incorrect conclusions?  I have promised to be faithful to you and I will keep that promise.  I want no other.  But I have had to work more closely with the slave handlers, trying to find places for them.  They need to be protected and provided for until they can earn a wage.  Not all of them feel that they can.  It is an insult, to them, to be stripped of their position here, no matter that they can have it back as a paid servant.”

 

“Only because they were  _ brainwashed _ into-”

 

“I  _ know _ .  Just- just  _ listen _ .  I have been working with the handlers, and the slaves that before I would not have had any contact with.  And, it seems, that not every slave was treated with the same respect and affection that the Royal Slaves were.”

 

Laurent blinked at him.  Had he really thought that  _ all _ slave owners in Akiolos revered their slaves?  It was idiotically, dangerously naive.

 

“I know.  You probably think I was a fool for believing it so, but I did.  And in talking with them, I have come to a… better understanding of how difficult it can be to truly trust again after that kind of violation.”  Damen sighed when he saw Laurent stiffen.  “I know that you trust me.  I know that you  _ want _ me.  But did you not notice how much more difficult it became to put aside what had been done to you after you were brought here and it happened again?”

 

“You spoke to a slave who had been raped by a family member repeatedly, nearly killed, then raped again by soldiers at that same family member’s orders and was able to give you perfect insight into my mind?  How unfortunate for them.”

 

“I do not pretend to have perfect insight into your mind, Laurent.  I just think that what happened here that day reopened old wounds, and they are likely to take longer to recover.  There is no shame in that.”  He crossed the distance between them and caressed Laurent’s jaw.  “There is no rush.  I plan to spend the rest of my life with you, Laurent.  Waiting another week, or month, or year, will not change that.  I  _ love _ you.  I do want you.  Saint’s mercy, I want you so badly that I dream of you and wake up with slick sheets like an adolescent.  But I want you when you are ready.  When you can come to my bed with no fear, no doubts.

 

“I will wait for you Laurent, and you are worth every moment that I do.”

 

Laurent barely let him finish speaking before he launched himself at Damen.  For all his strength, Damen stumbled back to the bed with the force of it.  He had no time to speak, to think - Laurent’s lips were on his, tongue seeking his out and sliding alongside it.  Laurent’s hands tangled in his hair at first, tugging deliciously, then one dropped to the pin holding up his chiton and was tugged away.  The fabric fell, baring Damen’s chest.  In quick, efficient movements, Laurent began removing his own clothing, never breaking the kiss.

 

It wasn’t until Damen felt Laurent’s thighs bare against his own that Damen found the strength to pull back.

 

“Laurent- Laurent, what are you-”

 

“I would think that obvious.”

 

“But I just said-”

 

“I know what you said,” Laurent spoke between kisses, trailing his lips up Damen’s jaw and stopping to bite his ear lobe.  “And I believe you.  But now I’m ready.  I want - you.  All of you.”  He circled both their cocks in a single hand and stroked.  Damen groaned.  “Where is the oil?”

 

“The table-” Damen gestured, and in a flash, Laurent was rifling through the drawer’s contents until he snatched the oil.  “But Laurent-”

 

“Don’t.  I heard you, I listened.  I trust you, and you need to trust me when I tell you that I’m ready  _ now _ .  I want to - to make love with you.”  It sounded insipid, like a childish fantasy.  But Damen’s lips curled into a soft smile, and Laurent’s heart fluttered.

 

“Fine.  Only… only, you take me.”

 

Laurent drew back.  “What?”

 

“I did not stutter,” Damen repeated his words back to him.  “You said you want  _ all _ of me.  I have already been inside you.  You, on the other hand, have not been in me.  There is a part of me that you have not laid claim to.  I think we need to rectify that.”

 

“If you are only doing this to-”

 

“I am doing this because I want to.  I would have let you back at Karthas, had we not come before we had the chance.”

 

“I have never…”

 

“You said as much.”

 

“I cannot - I cannot guarantee that I will be able to make it pleasurable for you, the way you do for me.”

 

Damen smiled.  “ _ That _ is not my concern.  My only worry is that I will come too soon like an over eager youth.”

 

Laurent shrugged, his confidence growing.  “If you do, then you will have to tap into that legendary stamina and get it up again.  Unless you think you can’t.”

 

“Why don’t we try it and see?”

 

Determined now, and practically eager, Laurent slicked his fingers in the oil and pressed one against Damen.  Droplets of the slick liquid fell against the sheets.  Laurent worried that Damen was too tight, even with just one finger, that it could not be comfortable.  Damen just smiled and spread his legs wider.

 

When he felt brave enough, Laurent added a second finger.  He was dizzy with desire.  Damen’s body was slick and hot, the pressure on his fingers making him wonder how he would be able to stand it on his cock.  Perhaps Damen wasn’t the one who would come too soon.

 

Laurent added a third finger before Damen declared himself ready.  Laurent teased him for longer still, discovering at which angle he needed to crook his fingers to make Damen’s belly clench and ripple in pleasure.  His free hand stroked Damen’s cock softly, guarded by Damen’s own hand.  Any time Laurent got him too close, Damen would stop him.

 

“Not until you’re inside me,” he decreed.  Laurent wasn’t inclined to argue.  Especially when, moments later, Damen clenched down on him tightly and  _ demanded _ Laurent fuck him.

 

Obliging was no hardship.  Laurent had wondered what this would feel like.  Nothing else could compare.  Laurent did not know if it was because Damen was a virgin in this, or if he was naturally blessed in this area like in so many others, or if it was simply because Laurent loved him, and love increased all pleasures.

 

Either way, by the time he was fully seated in Damen, he was panting with pleasure, sweating and shaking as he checked Damen to make sure he was not in any pain.  Damen’s cock was throbbing untouched against his belly.  Laurent took that as a good sign.

 

In the end, neither of them lasted any longer than green lads, and neither of them cared.  Longing and need and desperation all joined together to drive them into the brink before either of them were ready to let go.

 

It was intense, overwhelming, wonderful.  It was love and lust and loyalty expressed in the most base form.  It was the trust that Laurent needed from Damen, the trust he gave Damen in return.  It was equal ground that they both stood on, together.

 

Laurent convinced Damen to take him for their second round, and the third didn’t come until much, much later, and involved just hands and thrusting hips.

 

Perhaps Damen had been right to have them hold out.  The anticipation certainly made the release all the sweeter.  Still, Laurent knew he never wanted to wait so long ever again.  Damen promised him that he wouldn’t ever have to.

 

***

 

Dawn was lighting the room in a pale glow.  Damen lay on his side, curled around Laurent like an enormous cat.  It should have been uncomfortable.  Laurent found that he grudgingly enjoyed the overbearing contact.

Damen would likely want to sleep in since they had been up most of the night before, but Laurent could not force himself to return to slumber.  Too many thoughts whirled around his mind.  He considered going out for a ride to clear his head as he would have done before he and Damen had become a couple, then discarded the idea.  He was trying to be different, to meet Damen halfway.

“Wake up.” He prodded Damen’s side none too gently.  Damen barely stirred.  Laurent huffed and poked him harder, between the ribs.  “Wake  _ up _ .”

Damen grimaced and his eyes fluttered open.  “W’s wrog?”  His voice was sleep roughened and his words slurred.  It should not have been adorable.  Indeed, a word like adorable wasn’t even  _ in _ Laurent’s vocabulary.  He certainly would  _ not _ apply it to sleepy Damianos.  No.

“We need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?”  This time, all the sleep was gone from Damen’s voice and his eyes were clear.  He pushed up to one elbow and searched Laurent’s face, looking for signs of distress.  Laurent waved at him negligently.

“Nothing.  Nothing imminently dangerous, anyways.”

Damen let out a relieved sigh and flopped back down onto the bed.  “In that case, can it wait a few more hours?  I feel like I only just closed my eyes.”

“I am  _ trying _ to be considerate, here.”

“Considerate?”  Damen cocked one dark brow lazily.  “By waking me up for a non-life-or-death matter at the wrong side of dawn when I spent the entire night in rather strenuous activity?”

“Yes.”

“If you say so.”  Damen yawned so widely his jaw cracked.  Laurent scowled at him.

“I could have left before you woke, gone for a ride with the intention of clearing my head, instead allowed my thoughts to grow out of hand, avoided you in hopes that I would get my thoughts better in control before facing you, withdrawn when I realized that things were only getting worse, then taken it all out on you and anyone around us in a fit of temper.  If you’d rather.”

Damen cringed.  “I take your point.  This is far kinder.  Procede.”

Laurent began counting the ceiling tiles so that he did not have to look at Damen’s face.  “You are very… virile.”

“...yes?”

“I imagine that - before - you would have had a different bed partner almost every night.  And the majority of them would have been female.”

“I was not fucking my way through the populace, but there was… variety, yes.”

“Including while you were with Jokaste.”

“The type of relationship she wanted did not exclude taking other bedmates, no, but Laurent-”

Laurent went on as if he hadn’t heard the conjunction.  “And it would have been accepted by your people, even expected, for you to have consorts and mistresses when you became king.”

“It would not have been frowned upon.  But it is not a necessity, and no one is going to force such an arrangement on me.”

“You might want one.”

“No.”

“You say that now, but be realistic, Damen.  In another fortnight, I will be returning to Vere.  You will still be rebuilding here.  Even if we take turns making trips when it is possible, there will still be long stretches during which we will be apart.”

“And I will endure them just as you will.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

Laurent scowled.  Was Damen being purposely obtuse?  “Because I do not have those desires outside of in your immediate presence.  It will be no loss for me to abstain until we are reunited.”

“I am not a beast ruled by my desires, Laurent, any more than you are frigid and unfeeling.  We will  _ both _ have times when we want, when the need for release seems choking.  And we will manage.”

“But you don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.  I made a commitment to you.  I do not break my word.”  Damen pushed up on his elbow, looking down at Laurent’s face searchingly.  “What is this really about?”

“You are going to want this more frequently than I do.”  He blurted out the words in a single breath, fighting the color he knew was staining his cheeks.

“Sex?”  A curt nod.  “And so?”

“Don’t pretend it won’t be a problem.  We both know that you aren’t going to fuck me when I don’t want you to, and you’ve foolishly promised not to take others to your bed.  This is a disaster waiting to happen.  It won’t last.”

Damen smiled gently, making Laurent scowl.  “Sweetheart, sex is not the only part of a relationship. It’s not even the best part of a relationship.”  Laurent raised an eyebrow. “Don't get me wrong,” Damen chuckled, “it is pretty damn amazing.  But… there is so much more to you. To what we have between us.  Sex is the physical act of what we already feel.  That doesn't mean that the feeling is gone if we aren't making love every moment.”

Laurent tried to keep his face blank as he thought, but knew it was a lost cause.  Damen would see right through him anyway. 

For all Laurent’s life, sex had been somewhat of a mystery, for all his experience with it.  Sex was a tool, sex was a means of validation, sex was a way to prove self worth.  He’d seen others enjoy sex in an empty, physical way, and he’d seen it used to manipulate and control. 

But with Damen - 

With Damen, Laurent was coming to see the act as Damen saw it.  _ Making love.   _ The term still unnerved him, but he was beginning to see just how true that could be.  And Damen seem convinced that he did not need physical affirmation of their love every day to remain faithful.  He would love Laurent still even if they could not fuck regularly.  Even if Laurent turned him down.

There would be no punishment, no repercussions.  Just Damen, loving him all the while. Loyal to him, no matter what.

“I think,” said Laurent, “that you should - make love to me again.”

Damen’s brow furrowed.  “For someone who claims he will not want sex as often as I do, you seem very keen.  After three times last night, and then-” he paused, looking concerned.  “If this is meant to be some kind of gratitude, or-”

“Shut up,” Laurent interrupted.  It would take ages to talk him down if Damen got it into his head that Laurent was laying with him for any reason other than genuine want. “I find… I find that trust, and love, and the ability to  _ choose _ , make me-” He stopped, glancing down pointedly at his erection.

A slow smile spread across Damen’s face, the very incarnation of sin itself.  “ _ Oh _ .”  He slid closer, nuzzling gently along Laurent’s neck in a way he knew made him shiver.  “In that case, I think perhaps we will not have to worry about you wanting this less than I do.” The kisses dropped lower, across Laurent’s sternum, down his abdomen.  “Because I plan to spend the rest of my life proving my loyalty to you.  Showing you my love. And always,  _ always, _ giving you a choice.” He ran his tongue up the underside of Laurent’s cock, lingering a moment at the tip before pulling away. Laurent nearly whimpered at the loss.  “So, sweetheart, tell me.  Do you want me?”

Laurent’s cock throbbed.  He didn't try to hide his excitement, didn't try to keep the look of love from showing in his eyes.  He let go of his insecurities, of his fears. He chose this. And he knew he would continue to choose this for the rest of his life.

“ _ Yes.” _

***

Four years can either seem like an eternity, or it can fly by before you even realize it.  Laurent had experienced both.  The years since he and Damen had ascended to their thrones had certainly been the former.  Joining two countries and radically changing several laws was no small feat.  Especially when those two countries had been sworn enemies for generations, for all that they had been a single nation once.

Thankfully, after the chaos of the first year, Damen and Laurent did not have to spend any significant amount of time apart.  Workers from both Akielos and Vere were commissioned to rebuild the ruins at Marlas.  The palace there became home to both kings for the majority of the year. 

Laurent’s council had been rebuilt under his careful supervision, and even included a Akielon ambassador.  Damen, too, had surrounded himself with loyal Kios who, at the very least, were willing to acknowledge their King’s Veretian consort, even if they weren’t all happy about it.

All in all, things had gone better than either of them ever could have dreamed.

And then the whispers started.

Neither king had an heir, and if their partnership was, as it seemed, a monogamous one, then there would not be any.  The Akielons did not understand.  If Damianos must have a husband instead of a wife, then why not at least impregnate a good Akielon woman to raise as his heir?

The Veretians were even more distraught.  With their deep seated hatred of bastardry, they could not imagine a child born outside of the royal marriage someday ruling the country, and yet there was no way for a legitimate heir to be produced.  There had been talks of introducing a law that would allow for royal polygamy, so that Laurent might wed a woman and have a child, but Laurent had outright refused.  His line would end with him, and he would not hear otherwise.

What, then, was a solution?  They could adopt a child, yes, but even assuming they got a generous fifty years ruling together before passing their thrones onto their heir, a single generation was not long enough to erase so much prejudice.  If the child was Veretian, the Akielons would not accept him.  If he was Akielon, the Veretians would not accept him.  No one could see a path that did not lead to strife and potential civil war in a few short decades.

Until Laurent sent out a discreet missive and got a surprising reply.  A week later, he and Damen were on the road leading to Vask with a small party of carefully selected men.  Halvik greeted them as warmly as was in her nature and settled them into tents, telling them that there was to be a feast later, and then they would discuss terms.

Damen, who had thought they were simply on a diplomatic visit, was confused.  Laurent refused to explain.  The soldiers pretended not to hear them bickering.  They did not stop until the feast, and then only because Laurent was speaking to Halvik instead.  Damen had learned some of their language in the years since his ascension, but was still not fluent enough to understand the entirety of their conversation.

They were discussing treatment of… something.  A word he didn’t recognize.  Laurent was speaking of dignity, strength, and honor.  Halvik looked over at Damen speculatively and nodded.  Then they seemed to be negotiating travel.  Trips back to Vask, times when Halvik and her warriors would be welcomed in the palace at Marlas.  Laurent seemed to be offering generous terms, especially considering how little he liked having visitors in their home.

Once that was settled to Halvik’s satisfaction, the conversation turned to veins that Damen better understood.  Trade routes that would stay open, peace treaties that would be honored.  She reminded Laurent that a single tribe did not speak for the whole of Vask, but said that their arrangement would go a long way to ensuring that there would be no tensions for many generations to come.

Just when Damen was going to demand that they tell him what was going on, Halvik, Laurent, and Kashel rose.  Damen took Laurent’s outstretched hand and let himself be pulled along, his frustration steadily turning to anger.  He would not make a scene that could cause political tensions, he promised himself.  But as soon as they were back in Marlas-

Halvik lifted the flap of a large tent in the middle of the camp.  There were several men inside tending to young children.  And one child sitting on his own.  A large child despite his round face and baby teeth.  A child with distinctive dark curls.  Kashel gently beckoned the child over.  He rose obediently and walked to them on the mostly steady legs of a toddler.  Dark eyes stared up at Damen.  He felt as though he could not catch his breath.

“My-”

“Patronage means little to us,” Halvik said in her stilted Veretian, “but of this one there is no doubt.”

Damen crouched down and held out his hand.  He was an imposing figure to a child, but Vaskans were taught to revere size, and the boy was obviously comfortable being in the care of men.  He took Damen’s outstretched hand and let himself be picked up.

“I… I have a son,” he murmured, a bit dazed as the boy patted his cheek, then poked one chubby finger in Damen’s dimple.  A dimple that the child had as well.

“That is generally what happens after sex with women,” Laurent replied dryly.

“I knew there was a chance, of course.  I knew that was why they… but I never thought- Where is his mother?”  He looked around as if she might be standing just out of sight.

“Dead.”

“What?”  Damen instinctively clutched the child tighter to him.

“A hunting accident, a few months ago.  I was just as surprised as you are.  When I wrote to Halvik, I thought, perhaps we could come to some sort of arrangement, but then-”

“You planned this?”

“Not the woman’s death, certainly.”  Laurent went on when Damen made to kick him.  “But yes, I contacted Halvik under the assumption that you would have likely fathered children with her warriors.  If we could have an heir that was at least half your blood, the Akielons would be far more likely to accept him.”

Damen looked between his husband and his son, nearly speechless.  It all sounded so easy.  But- “What about the Veretians?  They will consider him a bastard, and worse, an Akielon one.  Surely they would rather an heir of no royal blood but of Veretian descent.”

“Perhaps they would prefer that, but they will not get it.  Besides, our heir being half Vaskan means that peace with Vask is almost guaranteed.  Yes, it will be a male Vaskan, but Vaskan all the same.  It will take time, but eventually the council and the Veretian people will see that a ruler with strong ties to all three countries will mean a more peaceful, prosperous reign.”

“And… they are willing to just let him go?  Surely he has been raised with other family than his mother.  He will be frightened going to a new land, with people he does not know, especially after having so recently lost his mother.”

Beside them - almost forgotten - Kashel tutted in approval.  Her smile was wide and genuine as she clapped Damen on the back and spoke in rapid Vaskan to Laurent.

“What did she just say?”

“That she already feels better about letting you raise a Vaskan child.  Your strength is tempered by gentleness.  And that you would make a good-” he said a word in Vaskan, grimacing as he tried to find an appropriate - and inoffensive - translation in Akielon.  “Caregiver,” he finally settled on.  It perhaps didn’t cover the ‘studded out by night’ part of the job, but the rest was true enough.

Damen smiled a little crookedly and couldn’t help his gaze from being drawn back to the child in his arms.

“But you are right, they agree it would be unfair to uproot him from everything he knows.  One of their-” there was that word again.  Laurent gestured to the men.  “Will come with us to help him get settled in.  Halvik has reserved the right to come visit the boy as much as she deems necessary for the first year, to ensure he is being raised properly.  After that, we are expected to travel with him to Vask at least once a year so that he can maintain ties to the clan.”

“Reasonable terms.”

“Of course,” Laurent said, looking offended that Damen would even doubt it.

“I have a son,” Damen repeated.

“You do.”

“ _ We _ have a son.”

“We have an heir.”

Damen tugged Laurent closer, so that he could have them both in his arms.  “We have a family.”

“Family,” Laurent agreed.  The boy was fascinated with Laurent’s hair, reaching out to grab a chubby fistful and marveling at the way the strands slipped from his grasp.  Laurent’s lips curled up just a little and his eyes softened.  He pressed his finger to the tip of the boy’s nose as he remembered Auguste doing to him as a child.  The boy grinned and giggled.  “Family, and a future.”    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are, folks! That's all she wrote! Actually, that's not quite all I wrote. I do have the bonus reveal scene yet to come, but the main plot is now complete.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this ride with me, and thanks for reading all the way through ❤


	18. Bonus Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus scene! In which Damen tries to reveal his identity to Laurent. All dialogue is the work of CS Pacat : )

The Reveal

 

Laurent expected fury.  It was the only logical response.  There was no way he could convince Damen that he hadn’t abandoned him at Charcy.  What reason did Damen have to trust him?

 

And so, Laurent steeled himself for Damen’s anger.  He braced himself for the sight of the man that he’d given himself to, the man that had woken within him things that perhaps had been better left dormant.  Things that would never again see the light of day, because Govart’s ambush had ended any chance of he and Damen picking up where they left off.  Now, all that remained was the alliance that they both needed.  They could be enemies fighting for the same cause once more.

 

Laurent buried the ache of that deep down, where no one would ever see it.

 

“Hello, lover.”  He was proud of himself, that his voice did not shake.  Damen was the very picture of a powerful warlord, streaked with blood and dirt.  He threw the Regent’s banner down on the table, and there was almost something poetic about Damen delivering the shredded silk bearing his uncle’s sigil to Laurent’s table.

 

“Charcy is won.”  His voice was full of emotion, but it wasn’t quite the outright rage that Laurent had expected.  Damen stepped closer, his eyes narrowed.  “Your men think you’re a coward.  Nikandros thinks that you deceived us.  That you sent us to Charcy, and left us there to die by your uncle’s sword.”

 

Laurent barely dared to take a breath.  “And is that what you think?”

 

“No.  Nikandros doesn’t know you.”

 

And with that, the light that had been reduced to barely a flicker was refueled.  Such a treacherous thing, hope.  Laurent didn’t want to dare believe.  He looked for tricks, traps, anything that might be used against him-  “And you do.”

 

There was a pause as Damen studied him.  Laurent focused all his thought on holding his body casually, on not revealing how much pain he was in, how turbulent his emotions were.  He would not appear weak.  Not in front of Damen.  But then Damen’s hand rose, slowly so as not to pose any threat, and rested on Laurent’s injured shoulder.  Another moment passed, then Damen began to squeeze.  Laurent stifled the gasp of pain that had threatened to rise up, gritted his teeth in an attempt not to react, but Damen, damn him, had clasped exactly the spot where he had been stabbed.  He could only hold out for another moment before gasping, “ _ stop _ .”

 

“You wouldn’t break an oath,” Damen said, releasing Laurent’s shoulder with an air of grim satisfaction.  “Even to me.”

 

“Even to you?”  Laurent knew what Damen was going to say before the words left his lips.  He could see it, written all over Damen’s face.  For a man so incapable of deception, Damen had held out long enough to tell this truth.  Laurent wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

 

It was foolish.  He  _ knew _ the truth.  Had known it from the moment he’d laid eyes on Damen, and had been waiting for the truth to come out ever since.  He’d expected Damen would take him alone somewhere, away from prying eyes, allow Laurent to react to the news in privacy.  He was considerate like that.  And Laurent would admit that he’d known all along, though feigning shock would be easier.  They would have the chance for a fresh start.

 

What he had not expected was that he would be nearly swaying with exhaustion, pain throbbing in his entire body, his mind a turmoil of emotions.  He hadn’t thought that he would still be reeling from Damen believing he hadn’t betrayed them, even when all evidence pointed to the contrary.

 

He wanted to fall into Damen’s arms and ask to be loved.

 

It was the absurdity of that, the fear of that kind of vulnerability, that iced Laurent’s veins.  He was not weak.  He would not be weak.  Never again.

 

“I’ve come to tell you who I am.”

 

Damianos, the Prince Killer.  Auguste’s murderer.  Laurent’s lover and only ally.  His only weakness.

 

“I know who you are, Damianos.”  He let the shock of that sink in, let himself grow utterly cold.   _ Frigid _ .  “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize the man who killed my brother?”  Damen took a step back, only just not stumbling away from the painful truth.  Laurent forced himself to go on, to push away any explanations that he might have offered, or ones Damen might have given him in return.  No, there was no place for them now.  Not when the truth of who they were was hanging in the air between them.

 

_ You fucked your brother’s murderer _ .  It wasn’t the first time Laurent had the thought, but it was the most painful.

 

“I knew in the palace, when they dragged you in front of me.  I knew in the baths when I ordered you flayed.  I knew-”

 

“At Ravenel?”  Damen looked as though he was vacillating between anger and disbelief. Laurent said nothing.  It was not a question that needed answered.  “If you knew, how could you-”

 

“Let you fuck me?”

 

And there was the question that Laurent could not answer at all.  How could he express the feelings Damen provoked in him, the wild, reckless abandon he felt in Damen’s arms?  How could he explain the way his thoughts had turned, how coming to know the man that Damen was had somehow overshadowed the reality of their shared past?  How could he admit, aloud, that for the first time in his life he had let down his walls, allowed someone inside because they had  _ earned _ the right, and that man was the same one who’d torn his whole world apart without even knowing it?

 

Laurent was ashamed of himself.  More than ever, he felt like a traitor to Auguste’s memory.

 

_ Damen knew you did not betray him at Charcy _ .

 

“I needed a victory at Charcy.”

 

_ Damen brought you the Regent’s banner. _

 

_ “ _ You provided it.”

 

_ Damen fought for you, risked his life for you. _

 

“It was worth enduring your fumbling attentions for that.”

 

_ Damen took you in his arms and gave you more pleasure than you have ever know, worshipped your body with his own- _

 

It was worse because that was what  _ should _ have happened.  Laurent was a cast iron bitch who could fuck his brother’s killer if it meant defeating his uncle.  That’s who he should have been.  Not the heartsick weakling who wanted to be held.  He should have planned the seduction as carefully as he planned everything else, seven steps in advance, seeing all the events like moves on a chess board.  He should have acted convincingly enough, but hated every moment of it.  He had every  _ reason  _ to.

 

But he hadn’t.  And that was worse.

 

“You’re lying.”  Damen sounded so sure, despite the hurt stricken across his features.  “You’re lying.  You thought I was leaving.  You practically threw me out.  You knew who I was.  You knew who I was the night we made love.”  Slowly, the pain on his face was morphing to realization, to confidence.   _ He can see right through me _ , Laurent thought.  It was terrifying.  “You weren’t making love to a slave.  You were making love to  _ me _ .”  It was almost too awful to hear aloud.  Laurent wanted to hide away from it.  “I thought you wouldn’t,  I thought you’d never-”  He stepped forward as if to draw Laurent into his arms, and Laurent only just kept from cringing back.  If Damen touched him now, Laurent didn’t know what he would do.  He felt wildly out of control, unbalanced, overwhelmed-  “Laurent, six years ago, when I fought Auguste, I-”

 

“ _ Don’t say his name!” _  In all the confusion, in all the doubt and self loathing and fear, that was one thing that would always be true.  One thing that  _ nothing _ could change.  “You  _ killed my brother _ .”  Auguste, who had been sunlight and laughter, Auguste, who had been protecting Laurent from the Regent, Auguste, who had been  _ everything _ .  “Is that what you want to hear?  That I knew who you were and I still let you fuck me, my brother’s killer, who cut him down like an animal on the field?”

 

He was shaking now, the mask of indifference he’d been wearing only by sheer force of will slipping.  It was all too much, more than he could bear-

 

“No, that isn’t-”

 

“Shall I ask you how you did it?  What he looked like when your sword went in?”  There was an edge of hysteria in his voice that Laurent prayed Damen could not detect.

 

“ _ No _ .”  Damen looked horrified.  Good.  It was how Laurent felt, spinning madly, out of control.

 

“Or shall I tell you about the illusion of the man who gave me good council.  Who stood by me.  Who never lied to me.”

 

“ _ I  _ never lied to you.”

 

Silence fell between them, and suddenly Laurent wasn’t just mad at himself.  He was furious with Damen as well.  Since he’d known from the beginning, he’d never held Damen’s deception about who he was against him.  But now it felt like a slap in the face.  He’d taken Laurent to bed, believing that eventually he would have to reveal his identity to Laurent.  And what, he had thought himself absolved of guilt simply because he hadn’t said the words  _ I am not Damianos, the man who killed your brother _ ?

 

“‘Laurent, I am your slave?’”  They’d both known what those words meant.  It was only now, in the wake of overdue truth, that Laurent realized just how impossible they were.

 

“Don’t.  Don’t talk about it like-”

 

“Like?”

 

“Like it was cold blooded; like I controlled it.  Like we didn’t both close our eyes and pretend I was a slave.  I was your slave.”

 

“There was no slave.  He never existed.”  Even still, Laurent knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Damen meant what he said.  There was no artifice in him.  Taking Laurent to bed had not been a calculated decision.  It had been without ulterior motive, as straightforward as everything Damen ever did.  But that did not change things.  “I don’t know what manner of man stands before me now.  All I know is that I am facing him for the first time.”

 

“He is here.  We are the same.”

 

They couldn’t be the same.  Because now, there was no hiding the truth.  They had to face each other exactly as they were.  And that meant there could never be anything more between them.  The thought left Laurent cold.  “Kneel then.  Kiss my boot.”  The words left him almost as nauseous as they had the first time he’d said them.  He didn’t want Damen to kneel before him, would have sneered if Damen had done it, but somewhere buried deep in his heart, he wondered what it would be like to have Damen kneel for him not because he had to, but because he  _ wanted _ to.  Laurent wondered what it would take to make Damen want to kneel before him.  He wondered what it would take to make himself kneel for Damen.  But no.  Laurent would never kneel again.  Not for anything.

 

“You’re right.  I’m not a slave.  I am the King.  I killed your brother.  And now I hold your fort.”  He drew a knife, and Laurent barely had time to regret how quickly he would crumble beneath Damen’s onslaught before he realized that despite all, Damen would not hurt him.  He threw the dagger onto the ground.  “So you will parley with me as with a king, and you will tell me why you called me here.”

 

“Didn’t you know?  My uncle is in Akielos.”  Laurent forced the words to sound casual, as if the idea of the Regent sitting on Damen’s throne didn’t strike him to his very core.  He could not allow himself weakness.  He needed to get control of himself, needed to fall back on the plans he’d made.  With Damen, he was always standing on shifting sands, forever uncertain of his stance, but the chess board was where his footing was secure.  He had a plan, one that would work out to both of their advantage.  And he would cling to it as thought it was his only port in the storm.  He would get Damen’s agreement of military aid in exchange for Delpha, and then he would retreat, would let himself mourn once again the loss of what he never could have had, and steel himself for the days to come.


End file.
